Happy Whatever
Thank you so much for stopping by.
Put the Flying Spaghetti Monster back in Christmas
Be with family and friends.
Exchange good will.
Drink.
Eat.
Call some friends you haven't seen in a while.
Be merry. If you can't be merry, be miserable.
Get drunk.
Curse members of your family.
Remember: it's always darkest before the lights go out completely.
Don't forget, kids: xmas is one of the most depressing times of the year. I'm feeling pretty empty and sad just typing this!
And if you're feeling particularly miserably depressed, reach out. Please.
Listen to some really good guitar xmas songs.
Steve Lukather, Neal Schon, Steve Stevens, Stuart Hamm, Trevor Rabin, Zakk Wylde, John Sykes, Robin Trower, Al DiMeola, Ted Nugent.
And more.
Kenny Wayne Shephers, Eric Johnson, Jeff Beck, The Brian Setzer Orchestra, Joe Satriani, Steve Morse, Steve Vai, Joe Perry, Alex Lifeson, Richie Sambora, Tonoyasu Hotei, Paul Gilbert.
I awoke with a start.
There was a PERSON in my room.
This is weird, even for me.
Perhaps he's one of those alien thingies, and I'm in for a ride I don't want to take (including copious amounts of probing).
He said, in that villainy voice that they all have, "I am the Ghost of Blue Cross and Blue Shield. Tonight you will be visited by 3 ghosts. The ghost of therapy past, the ghost of therapy present, and the ghost of therapy future. Don't bother getting up, getting a Coke, or even some of that incredible Popcornopolis stuff, which you hoovered up like you were starving. Just sit there and watch, like you do every day, you slug."
"Listen, Wanker," I told him, cuz I wasn't taking anybody's shit, "How the fuck did you get in here? Why are you disturbing me? I get very upset when people disturb me. Who sent you - the FBI, CIA, or NSA?"
"Stop being paranoid," he chuckled, as he had been warned.
"Give me one reason."
"Err... ummm.... I gotta go," and he simply winked out of existence, like my xmas bonus.
Not again.
"I am the ghost of therapy past."
You got me up for this?
"Be still."
Still depressed?
At that point I saw a noose. No, I saw eight nooses. In each one was hanging a past therapist. Pretty much what I expected.
There was the one who suggested exercise... if he didn't hang himself, I was going to. There was the one who said she should give me the copay. I really helped her out, though. Almost made me feel better. She lasted a while, until I lent her an expensive book and she told me it got crushed with her car. Perhaps she should've seen a therapist. The one who kept asking how that made me feel. The one who made helpful suggestions, each one of them wrong. Ah yes, the one who wanted me to draw a picture.
Anything else? This is really depressing.
""Err... ummm.... I gotta go," and he simply winked out of existence, like my xmas bonus.
I thought how nice it would be to get back to sleep, when I heard a crash, a belly laugh, and some diet cookies: it was the ghost of therapy present.
"I'm heeeeeeeere!"
Hi, Susan.
"And how has been your week, lefty?"
A little sad.
"I know exactly what you mean. I was borderline suicidal the other night."
That's nice.
"I had to call my therapist."
That's what I would have said.
"That's why you're so smart. You should be treating people."
As soon as I graduate here. So, as I was saying...
"Sorry."
I'm feeling a little empty.
"Oh, empty, let me tell you about empty. My son, bless him, won't come home for the holidays. I'm going to have to stuff an entire turkey into my face. He came from my loins."
I'm starting to lose things too. It's not normal for me.
"Oh, I lose my keys all the time."
I have ED.
"Erectile Dysfunction?"
Explosive Disorder. I miss my doggie.
"Well, as you know, the only one who can fix it is you."
As she said those words, she went right out the window, because she couldn't see it, but she knew the .357 was pointed at her.
Back to sleep. ONE MORE interruption and I really will need therapy. In my prison cell.
WHOOSH. Lights, sirens. Loud clothes. A whoopie cushion.
"Helllllloooooo! I'm Brucie, the Wonder Therapist!"
I'm thinking to myself that Bruce is a little light in the loafers, between thoughts of where I'm going to hide the body. Is there an open window around here somewhere? Who keeps letting these miscreants in - the Wife?
"Boy do I have a deal for you."
So do I. You go away and I won't kill you. Sound good?
"You're a peach. I'm from the future."
Then kill me now.
"In the future, we do things differently."
I'm really conservative that way. I don't like change.
"Don't be a silly goose. Take these and all your troubles will go away."
Listen, Rip, it doesn't work that way. The last time I took those, I woke up in Mexico, dressed in a dirty bedsheet, with the mother of all hangovers. Strangely, the People were hailing me as a leader. I didn't feel like a leader.
"No, that was the brown acid. I got something better.... try."
...
"5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. BLASTOFF!"
You blast off, Mr. Wonder, before I help you.
"Oh dear."
Oh dear WHAT?
"Those work on everybody. I've never seen this before."
I have asshole-resistant depression, tepid talker.
"I'm going to have to go away and ask my therapist what to do."
You do that, Sparky. If you come back tonight, you better be wearing a Kevlar vest. Why should I bother with you?
"Err... ummm.... I gotta go," and he simply winked out of existence, like my xmas bonus.
He sees you when you're sleeping.
He knows when you're awake.
He works for the NSA.
Shield your head for goodness' sake.
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