Setting: Office of a psychiatrist.

Patient A: It's just not working...

Doctor: Bunnies...white bunnies hopping in rhythm to the Rocky theme song...bum bum bum bumba bum...bum bum bumba bum...nah nee nah, nah nee nah...

PA: Look!...

Doc: Eyes closed!!!

PA: Look, I appreciate the attempt but you're just not very good at it.

Doc: Please, one more try?

PA: Whatever...

Doc: Picture a small....a small...rhinoceros...his horn has been badly damaged in a fierce battle with a deranged....chimpanzee. Relax... let your mind go quiet...peaceful...very, very peaceful and quiet. Now listen to the sounds of this epic battle. (Makes sounds of fight)...NOW QUICKLY THINK BACK TO WHEN YOU WERE A BABY!

PA: That's it, again thanks but I'm out of here...(leaves)

DOC: (Yelling after him/her) Don't forget to make another appointment with my secretary...

Secretary: Your 10:50 is here

Doc: Send him in please.

Patient B: Hey doc.

Doc: Ummm, hey?

PB: So, I have a ton of stuff to share with you since our visit last week.

Doc: Yes, sit please. Can you refresh me?

PB: Remember, you told me I should confront my father carrying a shotgun after consuming a case of beer for courage?

Doc: Sure, yes...hmmmm

PB: Yeah, well that didn't work out so well.

Doc: Well, I don't see how. Frankly I'm stunned.

PB: Really?

Doc: What did you screw up? I mean, what happened?

PB: Well, from what I can recollect, which isn't much, he took the gun from me and proceeded to kick me on my backside. Of course I can only guess at this as I woke up without the gun and my posterior bruised the color of a ripened plum. Oh yes, and a headache that felt as if an enraged hamster was trying to free himself from my skull with a pickax. So, again I can only guess, but there must have been a blow to the head as well.

Doc: Right...I see...so it didn't go quite as planned? Is that what I am hearing?

PB:What!?

Doc: You know, it was a slight variance to what we had expected?

PB: Slight variance!?

Doc: You were at least able to tell him you were gay though...right?

PB: GAY!? I'm not gay! I only wanted to tell him I needed to hear him say he loved me.

Doc: Look, I'm not your father. You don't need to hide in a closet for me. I am your therapist. It would be highly inappropriate for me to say, I love you....even if I do...(pause) no really...I do. Look into my eyes...and think of bunnies...white bunnies hopping to the rhythm...

PB: HEY! HEY! That doesn't work with me. Look, I really think you and I...this whole doctor-patient “thing” isn't going to work out.

Doc: (silence)

PB: Right....I'm out of here! (leaves)

Doc: (yelling after him) Alrighty then, don't forget to make your next appointment. We will dig into why I think I love you but can't say it to your face.

Secretary: Doctor?

Doc: Yes.

Secretary: Your next two appointments called and canceled. You are free until lunch.

Doc: That's great. Thanks...You might as well go to lunch and I will see you back here in a bit.

Secretary: Okay...you want me to get you anything?

Doc: Yes, Marge is coming in at 1:00 and I will need a tuna sandwich, a roll of colored duct tape, preferably red, and an enema. The generic kind, the others are so expensive and I really think they are pretty much the same...I mean vinegar is vinegar right? Oh, and a turkey wrap...you know...for lunch.

Secretary: Got it.

Doc: (gets out hand held recorder from pocket and starts speaking into it) So, Patient A was unable to reach into the past with the aid of hypnosis. I believe this shows a deep repressed memory most likely concerning the death of a childhood pet. My instincts tell me a fish. We will look into this next week by perhaps changing tactics...I am thinking water-boarding. Patient B had an amazing breakthrough. He was not able to tell his father of his sexual orientation but was able to confront him, though armed and drunk, but none-the-less a step forward. Make a mental note to get reservations at that romantic, little Greek restaurant and some chloroform for our next appointment.

Patient C: (interrupting, sticking head in door-non-descript as to whether male or female) I hope it is okay but no one was out front to help... I am in need of talking with someone...I fear my very life may depend upon it. I saw your ad in the Piggly Wiggly coupon flier.

Doc: (into cassette player) To be continued...Well, this is highly unusual but... life and death is very exciting. Very exciting indeed! Please come in…Mr?....Mrs?...Please come in.

PC: I can't thank you enough...I am sort of new to this, should I sit? Stand? Lie down?

Doc: Whatever makes you most comfortable and doesn't encroach upon my personal bubble space.

PC: (sits next to him) Okay...

Doc: Too close.

PC: (Moves back a bit) Is this okay?

Doc: Sadly, I guess it will have to be. So, what can I do for you?

PC: Should I just start?

Doc: Allow me...I can tell by your dress that you are a professional person, a person of importance and means. By your hair color I can assume you are not smart which is ironic because your shoes are very nice. Very nice indeed. I see a faint mustache which tell me you either have dreams of being a pirate or have a genetic defect which would explain the hump, no longer visible after you had it removed in junior high.

PC: Doctor?

Doc: Please. Don't interrupt. Your here because...because....look into my eyes....(staring) Your eyes tell me you haven't been sleeping. A small detail a lesser practitioner would have missed as they focused on your premature crow’s feet and not the grotesque color of red lining your eyes which in my opinion are clearly too far apart...yet another indication of possible mental retardation. But I digress...You haven't been sleeping because of your overwhelming desire to kill your spouse. Tell me I am wrong, I dare you.

PC: You're wrong.

Doc: Very well, let's see you do better doctor-wanna-be.

PC: Well, you were right about the not sleeping.

Doc: Of course I was....go on.

PC: I haven't been sleeping because I am going to lose my job...I think.

Doc: And I can only assume by “lose my job” you mean it as a metaphor for killing...continue...

PC: Anyway, if I lose my job...

Doc: (under breath) Kill spouse...

PC: I will not be able to pay for my apartment.

Doc: A metaphor for...hmmmm...whatever...continue.

PC: If I lose my apartment I won't be able to care for my...

Doc: FISH! YOUR FISH!!!!