And yet another shot at the title (part II)

So the fat, scraggly therapist lumbered into the office and plopped his large ass down in his chair. He picked his nose and wiped it on his shirt then took out a paper and pen. “So you’re not here for insurance purposes because the studio wants to make sure you’re mentally competent to direct movies? You’ve missed the last 47 appointment,” he asks.

“Correct,” I say.

“So why are you here?”

“Cuz I need drugs.”

“Well I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m only a therapist. Did you want to talk about anything?”

“Talk? Why would I want to talk to you? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That’s what we usually do in therapy.”

“No shit? I guess I never considered that,” I said. Then I pondered for a moment. “Well I guess I’d talk about being rejected by a woman I loved.”

“That’s good,” the therapist said as he scribbled notes. “So what happened?”

“Greta. She just didn’t love me back.”

“You mean Great Gerw-“

“Yes, her. Please don’t say her name.”

The therapist nodded and let out a loud fart. Then he readjusted in his seat to look all therapist-like. “Rejection is a very traumatic thing,” he said. “Would you care to tell me more about yourself?”

“Like what?”

“Like what was your family life like?”

“Hmm. Well my mother was a street hooker in Belgrade and my father was a Cambodian arms dealer. I caught meningitis when I was 3 and don’t remember anything until I was 42.”

“Mmhmm. And what is your love life like?”

“Well as you know, I’m pretty famous. I’ve been nominated for 53 Academy Awards, I am the world’s 6th richest man, stood trial for war crimes, and am a high priest in the Church of Satan. So I can pretty much sleep with anyone I want, assuming I can get my dick hard.”

“Sure. But have you ever loved anyone James? Has anyone ever loved you back?”

I was stumped. “I never pondered this question doc,” I said. “You’re really good at your job.”

“First off, I’m not a doctor. And secondly, I want you to think hard on this. You seem very mentally stunted with numerous untreated disorders. I’m honestly surprised and a bit depressed with humanity that you’re as successful as you are. So I want you to visit what I call a ‘love coach’,” he explained as he handed me a business card. “I’m just a piddly, poorly-paid therapist. There’s not much I can do. But this guy is the best in the business.”

I looked at the card. “Dick Warburton: Love Specialist,” it read.

“Will this make Greta love me?” I ask.

“To be honest, I don’t think anyone can love you James. But this guy can certainly help.

TO BE CONTINUED…