Tree-guys and Tarot cards

Sean brought his friend to rehearsal yesterday, whom I'll call Tree-Guy for the sake of protecting his ego. T-G is an eccentric cat -- for example, he chews on a drill-bit to stave off cigarette cravings. He's a toughish kid, a climber, rough around the edges. Doesn't give a fuck about anything, or so he claims. T-G went to get coffee for himself and Sean, and came back with a carton of pork-fried rice and a story about pissing on M&T Bank. And I guess he drank Sean's coffee along with his own.
T-G bought us pitchers at Kelly's after practice for the sole purpose of not drinking alone. He indulged us in a game of pool (at which he sucked) and hit on Sean's girlfriend incessantly (to no avail). I one-upped him by scrambling up the side of Kelly's onto someone's porch, thereby solidifying my status as The Drunkest Spiderman Ever.
We all went back to Flint's and I proceeded to read everyone's fortune with my newly-acquired Tarot cards. For the record, let me state that I have owned these two days - so I had to keep looking up the meanings of cards. And I don't really believe that cards can foresee your destiny. It's all about your interpretation, and as with any other medium (dreams, visions, prophecy, runes, tea leaves, et al) you can pretty much read whatever the hell you want into it. So I did. I laid out T-G's life before him and NAILED HIM.
Poor guy was almost in tears. He was a bit spooked out, I think.
So it would seem that, in light of his daylong machismo fest, it would be prudent to relax... chill out for a second... give him time to recoup and gather his wits... Let the boy collect himself, right?

Nope.

We wrapped him in duct-tape and I zapped him with the cattle prod until he twitched around on the floor like a cockroach.