“Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”

“Jesus, dude could suck the orange off a carrot. A big, long carrot.”

“I’m not a warrior or a goddess,” I said at last.Adrian leaned closer. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re both.”

“Dude, you got your girl’s name on your wrist? What in the hell possessed you to do that?” Brad said.Travis proudly turned over his hand to reveal my name. “I’m crazy about her,” he said, looking down at me with soft eyes.”

“I’m a psychic amnesiac. I know in advance what I’ll forget.”

“[A TV commercial] crossed my desk in 1986. It came with a press release boasting about an enormous production budget employed in service of what it termed a communications “breakthrough”. The secret of this particular breakthrough was the science of semiotics — i.e., conveying meaning via powerful symbols imbued with significance far beyond their literal interpretation. It’s the sort of thing that Jean Baudrillard and Noam Chomsky write about. Umberto Eco. Dudes like that. Dudes who have no responsibility for marketshare.Whoa,” I said to myself as I eagerly tore the videocassette out of its jacket. “This is gonna suck.”