Since crazy people seem to be attracted to me, I decided to take advantage of it and open a psychology practice. I mean, how hard can it be? I’ve spent enough time in therapy to know what to do, plus I’ve watched Analyze This about twenty times.
All it takes is sitting in a leather chair and saying things like “How does that make you feel?” and “Why do you think you did that?”, while making them talk about how their mother breast fed them too long or how their sister tried to strangle them with a Stretch Armstrong when they were four. Oh, and then you toss a few pills their way (I was going to use Aspirins.) The only thing I needed was a leather chair.
I went to my cousin Jason‘s furniture outlet store (actually it was a pile of furniture he kept in his garage) to see if I could get a good deal on a slightly damaged leather chair. Unfortunately, all he had was a pile of three legged dinning tables, a few rungless step ladders and a bunch of hole filled wicker chairs. I bought one of the chairs. I’d figure out a way to make it acceptable.
It took two days of hard thinking (hard thinking involves me sitting in my hot tub with a pile of McDonalds burgers and a copy of Field and Stream) but I finally remembered the old leather jacket I inherited from my great aunt Doris a few years before. It was too big a fit for me, since Doris became as fat as a house during her attempt to break the world record for most ice cream sandwiches eaten in an hour and she could never get the weight off.
So, I just stuffed the jacket in my hall closet and forgot about it. I leapt from the hot tub, fully clothed (I always wore a pair of long pants and a sweater during my hard thinking times ever since a wild raccoon decided to take a swim with me) and raced inside to dig through the closet. The jacket worked beautifully. I now had a leather chair. Now, all I had to do was start my practice.
A man showed up at my door and told me his name was Car. He was wearing the exact same clothes I had on that day and his hair sat on his head exactly like mine. I asked him why he wanted my services and he told me about his unnatural obsession… with me. Finding out you have a stalker is an exciting thing, but having a chance to be your stalker’s therapist elevates it to a wonderful new level. I asked him why he wanted to get rid of his obsession and he said that his girlfriend told him to.
I took him to my den and got to work. I decided not to try and break him of his obsession, but encourage it and teach him how to stand up to his girlfriend and tell her to shove it and let him be me (and give him a few Aspirins). It’s not his fault I’m such a cool guy. Besides, being me was a lot better than his boring old life. (He was a nine to fiver who worked as an accountant or a doctor or something. I sort of tuned out anything that wasn’t related to me.) It was a little freaky talking to someone who knew everything about me, even down to my secret fear of dryer sheets, but it was kinda cool.
The only other patient I managed to get was a woman named Sally who thought she was a butterfly. We spent most of our sessions in the backyard, while she danced around and stuck her tongue in my daffodils. I didn’t offer her any advice or counseling, since her antics really turned me on. I just made sure to buy more flowers to lure her back after her week long migrations.
Everything seemed to be going pretty well, but then Car lite started encroaching on my life. I found him sleeping on my bed, calling up my mother and even going to my court dates. The last straw came when he started to act like MY therapist and claim I was the delusional one. I’m not going to let some imitation psuedo Car tell me that he’s the real deal.
So, I tracked down his girlfriend. It was hard, since I never really listened to anything about his life. All I could recall was that her name was Nancy and she worked at City Hall. I brought her over to my house to confront the imposter. (I learned on the way that his real name was Joe and he worked as a lawyer.) We found him in the kitchen, drinking my beer. She smacked him upside the head and told him to stop acting like a moron and come home. They went and I was left with only one patient.
I really didn’t want to be a psychologist any longer. It was too hard and full of unpleasant surprises. I decided to give it up and go back to having therapy (especially since the court said I had to). I kept Sally as a girlfriend, though. All I had to do was dress up as a giant flower.
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Wanna talk to Car? Email him at: Car_Johnson_Rocks@hotmail.com
