Unicorn (Unicorn@Indenial.com)
Mon, 08 Mar 1999 06:15:26 -0500
"Doc, Help Me!"
(For Dr. H. K. of Long Island)
Shakey went to a psychiatrist. "Doc," he said, "I've
got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I think there's
somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there's
somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. You
gotta help me, Doc! I'm going crazy!"
"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said
the shrink. "Come to me three times a week, and
I'll cure your fears."
"How much do you charge?"
"A hundred dollars per visit."
"I'll sleep on it," said Shakey.
Six months later the doctor met Shakey on the street.
"Why didn't you ever come to see me again?" asked
the psychiatrist.
"Ha! For a hundred bucks a visit? A bartender cured
me for $10."
"Oh? Is that so! How?"
"He told me to cut the legs off the bed!"
***********************************************************
"Psychoanalist"
She had been seeing the psychoanalyst for years,
pouring out her heart to him twice a week. However,
she was making no progress, and the doctor didn't
believe she ever would.
"Mrs. Porter," he said at the end of one session,
"do you think these visits are doing you any good?"
"Not really," she said. "My inferiority complex is as
strong as ever."
"Mrs. Porter," the doctor said, "I have something to
tell you. You don't have an inferiority complex. You
are, in fact, inferior."
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