In The Clinic
We survived the Tri-Phase Psychographic Treatment
Joshua’s fatso sister and dickhead brother-in-law
finally decided: they were sick of quarreling! So they
go for Psychographic consultation.
By recommendation, they arrive at Doctor
Schwarzenhower. Level 3-D, fifth door to the left,
Doctor Schwarzenmower will see you next December.
“Please have a seat,” says Doctor Schwartzenbauwer to
the lucky couple and straightens out his nose
eyepiece. “Hellow my name is Doctor Schwartzenblauer
and I vill make your diagnoza Psyhografic tree-phasa. In second phasa
I find viz Cards af Diag-Nosa vat is relevant,
original und dominant problema in your shtinking
marriage. In third phasa I give Psyhografic analyza
that vill fix your silly brains once und for oll,”
Doctor Schwartzenbroder concludes his opening speech.
His eyepiece slides slowly-slowly down his pink nose.
“Wait a minute,” asks the dickhead, “What happens in
the first phase?”
“Alzo [well] in first
phasa you vill pay me three thousand nine hundred und
ninety nine galactic credits, not including 29 persent
tax,” answers Doctor Schwarzenbecker and twists his
nose in an attempt to prevent his eyepiece from
falling onto the mahogany desk.
“What did you say your name was?” asks the fatso.
“I said my name is Doctor Schwarzenbloch,” says Doctor
Schwarzenmaan, his eyes wandering about the room,
“What printed on door Doctor Schwarzenflop is
unfortunate typo. Door maker sent in hospital.”
 So the honorable Doctor Schwarzenbronco gives them
the card “diagnoza” and finds out what he had known
before they even came in the door: that the dominant
Psyhografic problema of the silly couple is the terrible Psyhografic clash
between her Melancholic Streptococcusia (Diag-Nose
Card #2) and his Streptococcusic Melancholia
(Diag-Nose Card #1).
And then, he continues and fixes their brains with a
therapy comprising black inkblots, transglobal
hypnotation and transcriminal meditation.
 They stopped fighting. Romance is blooming and Sun
shining. She stopped her filthy talk, and his demands
of her relaxed. Relaxed a lot…
For example, he comes home from work: “You want
dinner, Honey?” asks the fatso with sweet lips. She
lost a whole 3 and a quarter pounds and even put on
some lipstick like a big girl.
“No thanks I had pizza.”
Another attempt: “Want to sleep with me, Honey?”
“No thanks I fucked at the office.”
The pressing problem indeed vanished. And so did
sanity.
Behind the mahogany desk sat the next lucky couple.
Schwarzencrackpot carried out his opening speech
without looking at them.
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