Willy's Mental Health
Dear sir,
I am writing in regard to a recent entry on your weblog, in which you claimed that you intend to join the North Korean army and murder everyone here if you don’t get your way. Don’t you know that nuking America is looked down upon by all peace-loving first-world countries except France? I think that you have totally gone off the deep end, sir, and that it is time to seek help. That’s where I come in.
My name is Harold K. Scheistweiser IV, noted psychiatrist. You may recognise my name from one of my many television appearances, including the recent episode of The Late Show in which I urinated in David Letterman’s coffee cup while the cameras were off. I am also the author of the enormously popular self-help book Be More Confident, Sincere, and Pleasant, Because Then Your Rivals Will Never Suspect What You Put in Their Tea. And I think that, with just a few hours’ hard work analyzing the very essence of your pebble-sized brain, I could easily reduce you to having to live in dank, seedy motel rooms hiding from my collection agency. But first a few words about me.
After several months of extensive psychological training, I finally graduated from my mother’s stomach and set foot into the world of business. I first realised my gift for self-help when I was eighteen months and used to give daily lectures to my tiny friends about the basics of potty-training. After each of these, my mother used to look me in the eye and say, “Harold, you do that again and I’ll kill you!” It was then that, using my profound psychological skills, I first realised that she wasn’t shouting at me because she didn’t like me, but because she didn’t like herself. This theory was later nullified when she came after me with a bread knife during my introductory lecture, The Diaper and You.
At the age of six, I first began studying human behaviour. I used to conduct many experiments with my sister, who acted as a sort of willing guinea pig. I used to see what happened when she was locked in a confined space, or I dyed all her underwear red. I even began to perform crude electroshock experiments, which, as you might imagine, ended in tragedy. I am more than convinced that this is why Mom never let me have a pet.
Nothing much happened for the next fourteen years because I was asleep.
When I was twenty, however, I returned to my alma mater for a recap of my earlier psychological training. My mother was not pleased.
Today, of course, I am known and universally loved as Harold K. Sheistweiser IV, PhD, whom I killed and stole his identity. I have written hundreds of articles for popular magazines, which I am now assured have been recycled into new magazines, newspapers, brochures, books, and Chinese food. I am also infamous as that guy on YouTube who tried to force-feed Larry King his own microphone.
However, today is all about you. Using my intense psychological powers, I detected from your article what we in the psychiatric profession call “bad vibes”. You are clearly on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and if you don’t act fast you could end up shivering naked with a police spotlight on you as you cling upside down from the inner right hook of a giant M at a Tennessee McDonald’s smearing your face with packets of relish to prevent the aliens from stealing your eyebrows. It’s just a thought.
My first de-stressing tip would be to take a vacation. Just go to some sandy foreign beach and put your feet up. You’ll have to keep them up, of course, lest you feel the wrath of the Cuban Foot Tickling Beetle, which is extremely hostile and can be subdued only by the sound of Eminem CDs. Also, you’ll have to keep your eyes peeled, because beaches in exotic countries are brimming with people looking to rob you of your every possession, even if they only thing you brought was your bathing suit. This means that you will need to grip the waist of your suit with both hands to keep them from being stolen. But don’t rest just yet, though. You still need to keep your ears open for seagulls when they come by, because in some foreign countries they can breathe fire and carry tourists right off the beach in their talons. So dig your bottom into the sand and you should be rooted enough for them not to pick on you. Now you can just sit back and relax, at least until somebody comes by to surgically remove your teeth.
Another thing you could try is psychohypnosis, which often leaves patients feeling relaxed and confident, unless of course it somehow goes wrong and they become convinced they are sheep. They will hang around my office all day, eating my carpet, magazines and secretary. They will give up on singles bars for their sex lives and instead romp around Southern barnyards looking for lonely stable boys to comfort them. And I don’t like to clean up the mess they make in my waiting room. But don’t worry! That hardly ever happens, as long as I do it while I’m sober.
Let’s try it now, okay? I want you to lie back. Now, you are getting very tired. Veeeerrrrry tired. It’s the kind of tired you are of So You Think You Can Dance and televised golf. Your eyes are getting heavier. Heeeavvvierrr… And… Sleep!
When you awake, you will feel more confident, more relaxed. You will never again worry about how many votes you have, how many seats your party will fill, or how you can forcibly make Jessica Alba your first lady. You will give a huge tax break to Harold K. Sheistweiser IV. Also, whenever George W. Bush defends accusations of illegal wiretapping during a televised debate, you will temporarily acquire the personality of a mule with a hernia.
Also, your first act as President will be to stop the war in Iraq by pelting the enemy with rotting watermelons until their religious hoodies get all sticky and gross and they will have no option but to kill themselves in disgrace, not having let their people advance to the point where they have dry-cleaning. And whenever anyone mentions the word buffalo, declare war on a foreign country.
Boy am I going to enjoy this!
In twenty seconds you will remember nothing of what has happened to you, which is pretty much the case anyway. And… wake!
Hello, I’m Henry K. Sheistweiser IV. You might recognise my name from one of my many television infomercials where I sit next to a pool in a public resort and pelt people with copies of my self-help book until they feel better. In case you don’t remember, I’ve just been helping you become more confident through my amazing psychological powers! Now, just relax, put your feet up, and cut me a cheque for half a million dollars.
Good to be of service,
Henry K. Sheistweiser IV
Amazing Psychiatrist,
Bureau of Mind Control,
Office of Smells,
Dank Suspicious Closet of No Return,
Buffalo
Special Interests
On his website, Mr. Weasel has
been very inconsiderate towards the wants and needs of many Special Interest
groups, such as the one I represent, the Committee for the International Regulation
of Unionized Lobster Stacking. Special Interest groups benefit the entire
economy by giving jobs to low-income families, some of whom actually prefer
stacking lobsters to going to school or being allowed to eat. And, by benefiting
low-income families, it helps keep more homeless off our streets, where road-cleaning
vehicles can run them over and convert them into Purina dog treats. Is that
really what you want for your constituents, Mr. Weasel?
Additionally, there is absolutely no reason to question the business of dedicated
professionals based on their committee names. For example, take the Committee
for the International Regulation of Unionized Lobster Stacking. I’m sure a
low-life scum bucket such as you – someone who probably went to a community
college, where you woke up every morning in a public park stark naked with
a ring of Jell-O wrapped around your head – would think that a name like this
means that we are in charge of lobster stacking. Well, guess again, Fur Face!
Our group is dedicated to the administration of the unionization of elite
lobster stackers, who often work for the biggest seafood restaurants, hovering,
ninja-like, above the large lobster tank, just ready to arrange them in a
corner and get out of sight before anyone notices. Major restaurant franchises
utilise our time-honoured skill, practiced in the secret coves of New England
for thousands of years, to create the impression that the lobsters in the
tank are bigger, fuller, and, sometimes, have more eyestalks than they actually
do. It also makes the large, writhing pile of lobsters look less crustaceanoid
than they actually are. Customers look into the tank, they see a large, moving
mound of scales and eyestalks and pink rubber bands, but they ultimately can’t
tell which parts are the actual lobsters. This further persuades the consumer
to buy a lobster, which in turn supports the restaurant,
which continues to feed their customers for many happy years to come, and
in turn supports the fishermen of rain-drenched states like
Maine, which in turn supports the resurfacing efforts of
Atlantis, which thousands of years ago was sunk by a primitive
terrorist attack when Muslim extremists
dropped approximately 300 000 000 000 tonnes of dead haddock
on it, and which with every fish collected and gutted can relieve
a little more of the weight from its shoulders and finally resurface,
which in turn would cause much rejoice amongst its millions
of dead citizens.
Don’t you like our economy, Mr. Weasel? Would you rather longshoremen go back
to the days of homosexuality and putting New English shopping malls under
siege?
Special interest groups represent a significant amount of the American workforce
whose jobs would otherwise go unprotected. Where would we be if, for example,
the Committee for the Export of Roadkill Possum Spleens were to go bankrupt?
We would lose a significant quantity of American-Chinese perishable meat exports.
In turn, this would cause everybody who works in this field (the finders,
the cleaners, the gutters, the UPS man) to lose their jobs and end up working
for three hours a day as a boring CEO of a major corporation or bank whose
main duty is to think of new and more inventive service charges to inflict
on his customers so he can buy himself a fleet of helicopters. Mr. Weasel,
as a public servant, it is your DUTY to protect the people from the horrors
of attending benefit luncheons and golfing with prospective business partners
wearing flannel clothing that makes them look like Scottish rent boys. Where
would we be without the status quo? My guess is, somewhere else.
The bottom line is, special interests help the economy and the people by supporting
lesser-known yet equally important jobs in society. When you go to a supermarket
and see a SALE sign, you may not know exactly which individuals had their
skin removed and compressed to make that “recycled” paper it’s printed on,
but you nonetheless feel grateful towards the Committee for the Preservation
of Our Environment in the Production of Consumer Products via Unusual and/or
Terrifying Means. I certainly am, and often proclaim in a very loud voice,
“Boy, am I grateful for the paper created by the Committee for the Preservation
of Our Environment in the Production of Consumer Products via Unusual and/or
Terrifying Means! Say, Madam,” I continue as other customers try and slink
away, “Did you know that the ink on this sign was created by burning the toenails
of migrant workers and churning them with their own mucus? What’s even more
interesting is that sometimes they miss and chop of little bits of their foot!
For example, if you look carefully at the ‘O’, you can clearly see traces
of a plantar wart! Isn’t this interesting?” I am very proud to say these words,
even to complete strangers in a public area with security guards, because
I am a firm supporter of special interest groups, and want to show to the
entire world what we can do for the public. One time they almost had to call
the police.
Special interests can do things for the American economy, public and manufacturing
industries that could never be done if we assigned the tasks to child-manufacturing
sweatshop-employing Asian countries like China or Japan. Yes, they may have
Shrimp McNuggets and eel pancakes, but how many of their crustaceans are neatly
organised? That, Mr. Weasel, is food for thought.
Insincerely,
Dr. Richard B. Szudo
Chairman, the Committee for the Blahdy Blah Blah Blah
P.S. I would like to take this
opportunity to express a shout out to all of my homies back in the hood. Props
to my fellow peeps, yo.