It's not easy being a Ouija planchette, especially for someone who doesn't like being touched by strangers. Other game pieces have it easy, they might not even get selected, whereas I'm the center of attention every damn time. If I was a Monopoly piece, the shoe for instance, I could easily miss a game entirely. But no, I've got multiple sets of grimy fingers on me constantly, it never ends. I suppose it could be worse, think of dice for instance. Ouch.

I love how these fools think the spirits of the dead are making me move, answering their giggly goofball questions, as if all dead people would want to do all day is answer inane questions from squealing idiots. Don't they realize that even if denizens of the spirit world could be contacted, no self-respecting ghoul would waste his time with someone who seeks guidance via Parker Brothers?

And then there are the insufferable "enlightened" ones, the smug know-it-alls who claim that it's not ghosts who make me move, it's the players themselves, subconsciously. Wrong, brainiac! It's me, I do it! I take those trembling sets of fingers where I want to, I give them the answers that amuse me, understand? I mess with their heads, I throw them curveballs, and I toss in the occasional nonsense answer to keep 'em guessing, satisfy their precious, inch-deep skepticism. I play them for fools, because I can and because I don't like them touching me all the time, it's my little revenge. Just put me back in the box and in the closet, leave me alone.