New York Post shills for crazy bitch Sonya Fitzpatrick?

It's easy to get publicity. Just say something insane. Do something insane.

That's entertainment. That's how you sell newspapers. Wow, look at this...the ANIMAL PSYCHIC...

This is the crazy world. If you talk to yourself, they'll take you away. But if you talk to a DEAD DOG, you get a book deal. You have a radio show. You have the idiot New York Post panting at your door and about to hump your leg.

This is the 21st Century, and we have entire nations of urine-faced toilet-paper hatted loons committing murder on behalf of their imaginary friend Mohammed. Even worse, on behalf of some goat-bearded smelly "leader" who tells them there's a Mohammed while keeping them poor while he fucks white movie stars behind a palace door.

This is the 21st Century, and big cities have "psychics" conning people out of their life savings.

This is the 21st Century and we are literally buying in to all kinds of archaic shit and instead of being skeptics, instead of dismissing the crazies and the con-artists, we coddle them? WHY? All they are doing is killing people and cheating people.

So here's the NY Post saying let's give publicity to some bitch who is more of a bullshitter than a prune-eating bulldog. Can this crazy bitch show ONE bit of proof that there's life after death for pets? For humans? Of course not. Houdini didn't come back from the dead. Nicole Simpson didn't appear at O.J.'s trial. All the goldfish Sonya Fitzpatrick every flushed down the toilet have yet to reappear just to tickle her twat hairs and say "We're still around, Ms Fishy Smell!"

How does a cunt like Sonya Fitzpatrick live with herself? She must've PSYCHED herself up. She now believes her own spiked Kool-Aid. Or, she honestly thinks she's doing a service by being a shaman, a rainmaker, a preacher of piffle. What's so bad about giving some sad pet-lover some hope...in exchange for....MONEY?

Ask her how the fuck can she say "There Are No Sad Dogs in Heaven" and she answers like the true religious fanatic nutjob: "I KNOW IT."

"I KNOW IT." Like Saddam knew it. Like Hitler knew it. Like Assange and Assad. Like every self-absorbed egomaniac and huckster. Many a swindle has begun with "I believe," along with lynchings and pogroms.

In a saner place and time, this lunatic witch Sonya Fitzpatrick would be taken away in a straitjacket.

Asked "How do you communicate with deceased pets," she says...

"Animals know how magnetic fields work."

In their lives, dogs didn't know how toilets work. They didn't know what was breakfast and what was another dog's feces. They'd always fall for the "I just threw a ball" trick, and go running ten feet. But, once dead, once their brains had rotted...they developed the skill to understand magnetic fields!.

"I smell what they smell," says Sonya Fitzpatrick.

You smell like they smell, is more like it, Sonya.

The best part of the tedious interview, which I chose to end before the plugs for this wacko's book and radio show) is when she allows that CATS are just a bit different from DOGS. Cats sometimes need to be coaxed:

"I've had the off cat say, "I'm not going to speak to you" but they ended up talking to me."

Yes, just let 'em know that they both have something in common. A dead pussy.

"Celebrity pet psycho" er, "psychic" Sonya Fitzpatrick is living the pampered life, that's for sure. Makes a ton of money. Has five dogs (apparently she prefers them dead, to judge from the one on her shoulder). She has idiot shills in the media like talk-show host for brain-dead housewives Ellen Degeneres promoting her. Hey Ellen, bring on some Islamic fundamentalists who'd want to sever your pale white lesbian head from your shoulders. They are very sure about their beliefs, just like Sonya Fitzpatrick. They've got a Mullah or two giving hope to millions of people that one day all whites will be dead, and there will be no homosexuals, no Jews, nothing on a leash except inferior women.

How fortunate that if you're not Ellen, and can't afford to throw thousands of dollars at Sonya Fitzpatrick for personal readings, or sticking her fingers in a dead cat's litter box as a gypsy would tea leaves, you can buy her book! Then you can start deluding yourself that there is a heaven where there are "No Sad Dogs." Maybe a peevish pussycat or a pissed off gerbil.

Are all these fucking animals in the same big heaven that the radical Muslim or Orthodox Jew or voodoo priest believes in? I mean, the ones who authorize the ritual slaughter of a goat, a chicken or a dog or cat?

Frankly, Sonya Fitzpatrick opens up a lot more questions than she can possible answer. Including...how do you sleep at night? It should be on a mat on the floor. Of a prison. Convicted of fraud.