Evil Psychiatrist, Part 2

Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

I'm glad I can finally unload some of my problems. My dog keeps jumping up on the counter, eating all of my take-out. That is, when he's not trying to hump the pizza-delivery man (he's MY territory). My grandmother keeps throwing away my stilettos. She says they're too slutty. I lost a bunch of manuscripts on the subway today. I wanna start a new anonymous blog, a kinder, gentler one, yanno? Then I think, wtf, and re-read my archived evilness. I just found out in the elevator last week that George has tiny equipment. And I can't find a group that includes alcohol, cigarettes, gambling and pornography addictions in one package. I just don't have time to go to 4 different meetings every week. Please help.

The time it would take to attend four meetings a week is about a tenth what it takes to maintain a decent blog. Learn to budget your time, nitwit.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

I see dead people. Walking around like regular people. They don't see each other. They only see what they want to see. They don't know they're dead. Cherry-flavored Pez is my favorite. What's yours?

--Spooked in Spokane

It's not the flavor of what comes out that matters, sweetheart; it's the size of the dispenser.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Whenever I hear about friends of mine finding great agents or getting three-book deals for big money, I have to fight the urge to poke out their eyes with a paperclip and then slit my wrists. Does that make me a bad person?

And what would you recommend I do to deal with this crippling, horrible jealousy?

Ironically, I liked your idea about an aspiring author who pokes her rivals' eyes out. I ran it by Miss Snark, who has taken me on. Says she can get me a three-book contract and a movie deal. Oh, and listen, I can't pay, but I could use a ghostwriter for the books. Good experience. Whattaya say?


Dear Evil Shrinkie-dinkie psych-dude,

One morning last week, after a night of jalopena and tequila laced burritos, I had to dash into the men's locker at the gym and avail myself of the porcelain throne. While there, I could hear two coworkers making out in the steaming hot shower. Should I tell management?

--Burning in Butte Montana

You're complaining? I'd much rather be sitting on the crapper and have to listen to a make-out session, than to be making out and have to listen to some bean-stuffed slob backing the motorhome out of the garage.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Mi oners dont no it, but I am n intelajint kaynin. Un4choonitlee, I kant tok, onlee typ. Wenevr I go neer the kebord, mi oners theenk I am tri een 2 p on it. (Ther at werk now.) Wut iz the best wa 2 opin a chanl uv kamyoonikashun?

Gud Boy in Grrrrenvl

Christ, your spelling is pathetic.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

I have a lot of family issues and I'm wondering if you could help me. I can't afford a real shrink and the court appointed therapist that I was seeing committed suicide last week. (I'm sure it's my fault, I spiked his coffee with my Prozac at our last session. ) Here's a brief run-down of my problems:
My father is a bastard, My ma's an S.O.B.
My grandpa's always plastered, My grandma pushes tea,
My sister wears a mustache, My brother wears a dress.
Any comments will be greatly appreciated.

Jesus, lady, you're a friggin mess
I'm Evil Psychiatrist, answering your email
You don't need a doctor, just a manuscript sale.
Society's played you a terrible prank,
And now your career's in the tank.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

My husband is a marketing executive for a well known manufacturer of cleaning supplies, and for the past year he’s been taking frequent business trips across the country in order to promote the product launch of their new spot remover. He often performs product demonstrations on his own clothing to impress clients and “close the deal.” The result is that sometimes his clothes come home with faded stains of chocolate, red wine, lipstick, and on one occasion, semen. Is this normal? Am I being paranoid? Please help!!!

Addled in Allentown

Let's put it this way, honey: Either your husband's spot remover sucks, or his clients do.