Hey, here's a thing to do: rock up to a dealership and test-drive an insanely expensive and meticulously crafted automobile, just for fun. Al Pacino did it, and he was blind. So why can't we?

Our first thought, being members of one of the most equality-drunk societies going, is that, yes, of course we can. Conservatives and the unimaginative love to pat us all on the back by saying that we listen to a white rapper and watch a black golfer, that women can play hockey and men can do, oh, some girly thing. It is in this spirit that I can test-drive a Rolls Royce. Or so I believed.

I could even get up in arms about it. Like, who would the dealer be to say that I can't take a half-million-dollar übermachine out for a joy ride? How does he know that I don't have trunk loads of cash at the ready to fling at such a thing? If he were to refuse me I could accuse him of socio-economic profiling. I have rights!

In honour of Halloween, we've decided to take a trip on the general theme of evil. (Hey, did you ever notice that "evil" is "devil" spelled backwards, spelled backwards plus a d? Creepy.)

But before we tell you the tale of the horrible, gruesome day trip we took through the GTA's most sinister community -- The Township of King(!) -- let us cast the first bit of black magick together:

If you're reading this on an Apple computer, invoke the following spell: Say "Humba Fumba Bim Bam Boo Chris Rules" three times and then hit control+option+apple+8. You are now cursed to read this story in the dark! (Unless you invoke the spell again right away -- your call.)

If you're reading this on a Windows computer, I don't know, go turn some lights off and maybe remove some clothing so that you're chilly. Now, read on, if you dare...

An open letter to girls, as inspired by my recent trip to Downview Park's Canadian Air & Space Museum:

Dear Girls,

As my unending quest to understand you rolls on, I'm faced with yet another question: do you ever come across certain objects, places or situations that inspire your inner child to mutiny, the little bastard charging forth out of your chest, rendering your adulthood utterly meaningless?

On the cooler side of the Niagara Escarpment and well outside the usual boundaries of this column there is a village called Blue Mountain. The first thing I'd like to say about Blue Mountain is that when you drive there from Toronto rather quickly, your windows gushing wind and your speakers blasting opera, the air all around you gradually becomes a finer, more delicate thing.

The town overlooks Georgian Bay, and though it is famous mostly for being a skiing place, there is one more tourist attraction that people everywhere should consider, even if only by reading this story. The place is Scenic Caves Nature Adventures, a privately-owned piece of historically-significant mountain speckled with spelunkable caves, gifted with pause-causing vistas and bedazzled with a series of modern "light adventure" facilities allowing visitors to zip-line, "treetop canopy walk" and pass over a locally-famous suspension bridge to nowhere.

"In the black trunks and weighing in at 155 pounds, Diego Sanchez: World-famous UFC mixed martial arts fighter with a record of twenty-one wins, two losses. Specializing in gaidojutsu, he is known to train in thunderstorms so as to absorb their energy!

"In the dandy vest and weighing in at 155 (differently distributed) pounds, Christopher Reynolds: Guy!"

It's on, people.

Primary concerns when visiting a psychic for the first time:

• Is this a lot of hooey?
• Am I going to be able to keep a straight face? But if it is not hooey but in fact the woman is a mysteriously visionful sage channeling otherworldly energies and interpreting signals from the cosmos.
• Is she going to tell me I'm going to die? Or worse, that I'm a jerk?

I found answers to all of these questions (and more) last week at the gifted hands of Toronto's most renowned psychic, Giovanna. Let's say her name again together, for effect: "Giovanna!"