i often feel guilty
Sheri, the pert and pretty nurse took her troubles to a resident psychiatrist in the hospital where she worked. "Doctor, you must help me," she pleaded. "It's gotten so that every time I date one of the young doctors here, I end up dating him. And then afterward, I feel guilty and depressed for a week."
"I see," nodded the psychiatrist. "And you, no doubt, want me to strengthen your will power and resolve in this matter."
"NO!!!" exclaimed the nurse. "I want you to fix it so I won't feel guilty and depressed afterward!"
"I see," nodded the psychiatrist. "And you, no doubt, want me to strengthen your will power and resolve in this matter."
"NO!!!" exclaimed the nurse. "I want you to fix it so I won't feel guilty and depressed afterward!"
interviewing crazy
A man who had been in a mental home for some years finally seemed to have improved to the point where it was thought he might be released.
The head of the institution, in a fit of commendable caution, decided, however, to interview him first.
"Tell me," said he, "if we release you, as we are considering doing, what do you intend to do with your life?'
The inmate said, "It would be wonderful to get back to real life and if I do, I will certainly refrain from making my former mistake. I was a nuclear physicist, you know, and it was the stress of my work in weapons research that helped put me here. If I am released, I shall confine myself to work in pure theory, where I trust the situation will be less difficult and stressful."
"Marvelous," said the head of the institution.
"Or else," ruminated the inmate. "I might teach. There is something to be said for spending one's life in bringing up a new generation of scientists."
"Absolutely," said the head.
"Then again, I might write. There is considerable need for books on science for the general public. Or I might even write a novel based on my experiences in this fine institution."
"An interesting possibility," said the head.
"And finally, if none of these things appeals to me, I can always continue to be a teakettle."
The head of the institution, in a fit of commendable caution, decided, however, to interview him first.
"Tell me," said he, "if we release you, as we are considering doing, what do you intend to do with your life?'
The inmate said, "It would be wonderful to get back to real life and if I do, I will certainly refrain from making my former mistake. I was a nuclear physicist, you know, and it was the stress of my work in weapons research that helped put me here. If I am released, I shall confine myself to work in pure theory, where I trust the situation will be less difficult and stressful."
"Marvelous," said the head of the institution.
"Or else," ruminated the inmate. "I might teach. There is something to be said for spending one's life in bringing up a new generation of scientists."
"Absolutely," said the head.
"Then again, I might write. There is considerable need for books on science for the general public. Or I might even write a novel based on my experiences in this fine institution."
"An interesting possibility," said the head.
"And finally, if none of these things appeals to me, I can always continue to be a teakettle."
letter to a shrink
Dear Shrink,
It haunted me for days, weeks, months, years. I couldn't sleep at night. The sleep I got was full of nightmares and visions.
I fought bout after bout, fight after fight, with plagues of depression and insomnia; paranoia! Just the thought vexed me night after night, day after day.
I served stints in mental institutions, was even suicidal. Not even the normal 1-2 punch of Prozac and Zoloft would help.
Who would think that such a terrible and utterly disgusting act of cruelty and injustice could exist? Exist here in the United States of America, the land of the free the home of the Braves?
I could see a terrible wrong like this happening in third world anarchies, but here? The only place in the world where you can buy a six piece chicken McNugget and redeem 250 UPC symbols for a blue, red, and white basketball all on the same day!
I can still hear their merciless, nerve wrecking, voices; taunting him. They kept shrieking over and over that horrid little phrase, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."
Why couldn't they just give the innocent, little, white rabbit some cereal? Why? Does the fact that he is a rabbit automatically deprive him of the democratic and patriotic notion, the freedom, of eating cereal?
I can vaguely recollect the times when he was this close to getting some of that, that CEREAL.
There was the time when he dressed as a human and went to that secret meeting but was given away by the exposure of his fluffy white tail (I am still wondering how they accepted the ears).
Then there was the time he went to space and ancient times and even the jungle, but to no avail. You cannot even imagine the rabbits pain.
There are times when you don't get what you want but you survive; now think of the rabbit. Over 50 YEARS of chasing his only hearts desire, the reason he lives, and NEVER getting it.
Can you even begin to understand his pain, his utter grief? He is such a funny little rabbit, not silly, as those demonic little children accuse him of being.
Despite all his efforts he never got any cereal; not even when the flavor berry-blue was added to the ever-so-popular flavors of orange. Cherry. Grape. Lemon. Lime. WHY?
Those heartless little children had so much cereal and they wouldn't share. Even one little spoonful would have satisfied my little white friend's craving for those delicious six flavors. But no!
"Trix aren't for rabbits. Trix are for kids. Oh! The unbearable agonizing pain it has cost me. That one simple phrase "silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."
For the fourteen antagonizing years of my short but cruel life I have watched helplessly as those evil little children refused to share. I've seen the pain in his eyes grow from when he was a black and white toon to the five-color symbol of melancholy, infinite sadness he is now.
No More! In a matter of moments I will be taken up into the ship following the glorious Hale-Bopp and with the help of some friends I. WILL. FEED. THE. RABBIT! Feed him to his hearts desire so he can finally enjoy the pleasure of the orange, cherry, grape, lemon, lime, and new wildberry blue.
I can't wait to see the look on their moronic little faces as I feed the rabbit! He will be happy as I, when I give Trix to the rabbit and kill the kids! Who's with me?
Sianara,
You Know Who
P.S. If you happen to find 496 Trix cereal tops and over 2,546 Betty Cocker points. You will know that I haven't failed. Oh yeah, trade them in for a 7' by 4' by 2' life size replica of the Trix Rabbit.
It haunted me for days, weeks, months, years. I couldn't sleep at night. The sleep I got was full of nightmares and visions.
I fought bout after bout, fight after fight, with plagues of depression and insomnia; paranoia! Just the thought vexed me night after night, day after day.
I served stints in mental institutions, was even suicidal. Not even the normal 1-2 punch of Prozac and Zoloft would help.
Who would think that such a terrible and utterly disgusting act of cruelty and injustice could exist? Exist here in the United States of America, the land of the free the home of the Braves?
I could see a terrible wrong like this happening in third world anarchies, but here? The only place in the world where you can buy a six piece chicken McNugget and redeem 250 UPC symbols for a blue, red, and white basketball all on the same day!
I can still hear their merciless, nerve wrecking, voices; taunting him. They kept shrieking over and over that horrid little phrase, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."
Why couldn't they just give the innocent, little, white rabbit some cereal? Why? Does the fact that he is a rabbit automatically deprive him of the democratic and patriotic notion, the freedom, of eating cereal?
I can vaguely recollect the times when he was this close to getting some of that, that CEREAL.
There was the time when he dressed as a human and went to that secret meeting but was given away by the exposure of his fluffy white tail (I am still wondering how they accepted the ears).
Then there was the time he went to space and ancient times and even the jungle, but to no avail. You cannot even imagine the rabbits pain.
There are times when you don't get what you want but you survive; now think of the rabbit. Over 50 YEARS of chasing his only hearts desire, the reason he lives, and NEVER getting it.
Can you even begin to understand his pain, his utter grief? He is such a funny little rabbit, not silly, as those demonic little children accuse him of being.
Despite all his efforts he never got any cereal; not even when the flavor berry-blue was added to the ever-so-popular flavors of orange. Cherry. Grape. Lemon. Lime. WHY?
Those heartless little children had so much cereal and they wouldn't share. Even one little spoonful would have satisfied my little white friend's craving for those delicious six flavors. But no!
"Trix aren't for rabbits. Trix are for kids. Oh! The unbearable agonizing pain it has cost me. That one simple phrase "silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."
For the fourteen antagonizing years of my short but cruel life I have watched helplessly as those evil little children refused to share. I've seen the pain in his eyes grow from when he was a black and white toon to the five-color symbol of melancholy, infinite sadness he is now.
No More! In a matter of moments I will be taken up into the ship following the glorious Hale-Bopp and with the help of some friends I. WILL. FEED. THE. RABBIT! Feed him to his hearts desire so he can finally enjoy the pleasure of the orange, cherry, grape, lemon, lime, and new wildberry blue.
I can't wait to see the look on their moronic little faces as I feed the rabbit! He will be happy as I, when I give Trix to the rabbit and kill the kids! Who's with me?
Sianara,
You Know Who
P.S. If you happen to find 496 Trix cereal tops and over 2,546 Betty Cocker points. You will know that I haven't failed. Oh yeah, trade them in for a 7' by 4' by 2' life size replica of the Trix Rabbit.
loud, mad, or sad
The psychology instructor had just finished a lecture on mental health and was giving an oral test.
Speaking specifically about manic depression, she asked, "How would you diagnose a patient who walks back and forth screaming at the top of his lungs one minute, then sits in a chair weeping uncontrollably the next?"
A young man in the rear raised his hand and answered, "A basketball coach?"
Speaking specifically about manic depression, she asked, "How would you diagnose a patient who walks back and forth screaming at the top of his lungs one minute, then sits in a chair weeping uncontrollably the next?"
A young man in the rear raised his hand and answered, "A basketball coach?"
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