January 8 2002
Tuesday
Went to see the psychiatrist today. He asked me to sit down, then he
took my blood pressure. I asked him why. He said it was because he'd
been told
by my doctor that having my blood pressure taken seemed to make me angry,
and that he wanted to see me angry.
I asked him why he wanted to see me angry. He asked me why I thought
he wanted to see me angry. I told him that I hadn't got a clue. He
asked me why it was that I thought I hadn't got a clue.
(Forget what I said about
becoming
a rap artist, I'm going to be a psychiatrist, it's a far easier way
of getting seriously minted, all they do is ask you what you just asked them.)
Anyway after about another half-an-hour of him throwing my
questions back at me he pronounced that I
had an Oedipus Complex. I hadn't
got a clue what he meant so as soon as I
got home I looked it up
in my Oyford Encyclopaedia, and as far
as I can make it out it means that I
want to have sex with my my mother. He must be fucking joking!
The lads at school keep asking me if the penis enlarger has arrived yet,
because it should have been here by now. Clive Perkins accused me of having
already taken delivery of it and said that I'd probably been using it
for a week at least, instead of the three days each we agreed on, so that
I'd have a bigger dick than the rest of them.
I thought of telling them that maybe a frustrated postwoman had noticed
the attractive shape of the parcel and
stolen it,
but I abandoned this idea in case they
complained to the post office people about it
and I finish up in deeper shit than I'm in already.
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