A Kiwi bloke having a proper shocker with his whānau (family) decided to go see a local fortune teller down the road. The psychic gave him a mysterious look and said, "Right, mate. Come back in two weeks, but you’ve gotta bring me a handful of dirt from your front lawn." So two weeks pass, and the bloke rocks back up with a plastic baggie of dirt. The psychic closes his eyes, burnings some sage, reads the soil, and shakes his head. "Far out, bro... I don't know if you're ready to hear this." "Nah, go on, lay it on me," says the bloke, taking a swig of his Coke. The psychic groans, "It’s grim, mate. Your two lads aren’t actually yours, your daughter is messing around with half the local rugby team, and your missus is knocked up by your younger brother." The bloke instantly bursts out laughing—absolutely losing it, double-folded on the floor. The psychic stares at him, completely baffled. "What are you carrying on for? I’ve just told you your life is in the toilet!" The bloke catches his breath, wipes a tear from his eye, and goes, "Bro, I don't know if you're ready to hear this." "What? Tell me!" says the psychic. The bloke grins, "I was running late, forgot the dirt from my place, so I just scooped a handful off your front garden on the way in."
