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.