Honey I Shrunk The Jobe
So I went to see a psychiatrist today on the recommendation of a few dozen people. I have to say, it was a pretty enlightening session. We discovered the following things about me:
- I’m still grieving the loss of my daughter, but not my two sons.
- I feel guilty about the loss of my daughter, because I wasn’t at the scene of the murder to defend her. My alibi was so airtight so you cannot say I was there.
- The fact that I’m unable to find a hotbabe to love isn’t due to the fact that I fear commitment. I’m just bad with chicks.
- I look for excuses.
- My hands are soft.
- If something is good enough for Phil Collins then it is good enough for me.
- The lump on my crotch cannot be examined by a psychiatrist.
- I find leather erotic.
- I find pleather not erotic.
- I’m still suffering some effects from imbibing so much truth serum.
- I self-sabotage.
- I self-make-scrambled-eggs.
I look forward to seeing her again and making more progress.