Evil Psychiatrist, Part One

Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Whenever I, like, talk to my boyfriend about, like, important stuff, he’s always like, so not listening to me. Like, if I say, “Should I wear the Anne Kleins, or like, the Steve Maddens?” he’s like, “Blah blah blah football blah blah blah blah.” Do you think it’s, like, way too early for sex? Or should I like, make him settle for oral until he shows me he’s like, totally committed?

--Anxious in Anaheim

Dump this guy, the sooner the better. Then meet me next Friday night in the lobby of the Paris Hilton. Oh, and please . . . do wear the Steve Maddens.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

I'm told I look just like you. Yesterday, the gorgeous woman who does my in-home foot massages every Friday came on to me. Should I look for a new masseuse?

--Troubled

No, keep the masseuse; just sell me your house.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

I'm having trouble meeting quality men. I don't think my standards are too high. Where do all the educated, clean-living fellas hang out these days?

--Lonely Lover

Most of us are on our computers, blogging or looking for free porn . . . Got any pics?


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

Suppose I was involved in an axe-murder type incident, and that my involvement may, in fact, be more traceable than I first anticipated. How soon should I start therapy sessions in order to effectively plead insanity?

--Not Guilty

Screw therapy. Dig up the body of the person you didn't axe-murder. Roast it and eat it. Problem solved.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

The zombies are about to break down the door to the apartment where I've been hiding for a week. The problem is, one of them looks like my mother! I don't think I can kill her, especially if she makes that face at me, like she's all disappointed. Am I doomed? Should I just say, "Yes, Mother," and join their undead legion willingly? P.S. PLEASE HURRY.

--Rotting Apron Strings

Zombies. You gotta love 'em. I don't know which is funnier, the word "zombie" or the idea of the dead coming to life and eating the brains of the living. Of course, zombies aren't that entertaining when they're trying to get into your house, unless you've read The Zombie Survival Guide. Which I'm guessing you haven't. Anyway . . . what was the question again?


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Is it wrong for me to have unsettled thoughts about my mother-in-law? For instance, sometimes I’m at work reviewing a sales report or something, and the next thing I know I’m having an imaginary conversation with her, arguing over artichoke dip or what constitutes appropriate boundaries, and then I’m squeezing her wrinkly neck with both hands and shaking her and pounding her face into my keyboard over and over and over and over until she’s nothing but a bloody stump with shoulders. Should I tell my wife?

--Docile in Dubuque

Tell her what? That you're a normal, well-adjusted, reasonable, right-minded guy? Hey, she knows. That's why she married you.

Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Mother suggested I move back home since I recently lost my job, and she always says, “Tennessee is no place for a single 35 year-old man.” But I suspect she only wants to discourage me from keeping to my strict masturbation schedule. It wouldn’t be the first time. What should I do?

--Choked in Chattanooga

You're 35. Isn't it about time you got in touch with your manhood? Took things into your own hands? Tell Mother you've moved in with Ms. Palm and her five daughters.