Merry Christmas, Mr. Lorenz (Part VIII)

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Effington,” Bill said as he sat prim and proper in the psychotherapist’s office. The good doctor smiled and nodded in astonishment.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Lorenz,” she replied, “I assume your meeting with Susan went well.”

“It did not, but that’s okay. I’m ready to move forward.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, doctor. In fact, I’d like to learn more about you.”

Satisfied with the progress she was seeing, Dr. Effington gave a slight smile. It was the most warmth and personality Bill had seen from her. “What would you like to know?” she asked.

Bill shrugged. “Anything really. Why did you become a doctor?”

“Well, I realized the inefficiency of modern psychology to combat pathological behavior,” she explained, “in men, there’s sometimes a sexual component. If the new government is truly interested in eliminating crime, this problem should be addressed.”

“Your methods here have been kinda extreme, wouldn’t you say?”

“Only in light of the previous paradigm of sexual repression. But we’re now living in a new paradigm.”

Bill nodded. “I see,” he said, “so I’m sexually repressed?”

“Not repressed, Mr. Lorenz. You’re sexually misdirected.”

Bill thought for a moment. “So I’m assuming you’re still not wearing underwear?” he asked.

“You have assumed correctly.”

“May I see?”

Dr. Effington slowly uncrossed her legs and spread eagle in her chair. Bill gazed at her genitalia. “Am I still permitted to uhh…pleasure myself if need be?” he asked.

“Of course,” the doctor replied.

Bill unzipped his prison jumpsuit and started touching himself. “Can you touch yourself too?” he asked.

“Can we continue to discuss your history?”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk more about you.”

Dr. Effington started rubbing her right hand down her thigh. “How so?” she replied.

“Do you do this for all of your patients?”

“Just you.”

Bill began stroking himself harder. “So ehh, what gets you off?” he asked.

“A lot of things,” she replied as she rubbed herself.

“Can you take out your uhh…,” Bill began to stutter.

“Breast?” Dr. Effington asked as she unbuttoned her blouse. After she exposed her bare chest, she placed one hand on a nipple and the other between her legs. Bill was completely zoned in. “When was the last time you were intimate with someone, Mr. Lorenz?” she asked.

“Please don’t call me that,” he said.

“Would you rather be called ‘Bill’?”

“I’d rather be called nothing.”

Dr. Effington’s moans of pleasure increased as Bill neared climax. “You can come closer to me,” she offered.

“I can’t,” he said, “the heart monitor will go off.”

“I had it switched off.”

Bill slowed down as he moved his chair closer to hers. He reached out to touch her leg. As he stroked her leg and himself simultaneously, he began to feel a sense of performance anxiety.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Effington asked.

“I’m…I’m sorry doctor, I don’t know what my problem is!”

She buttoned up her blouse and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s quite alright,” she explained, “I’m proud of you. You’ve made a lot of progress.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Merry Christmas, Mr. Lorenz (Part IV)

“Do you care to say anything?” Dr. Effington asked.

Bill scratched his head as he gazed at his psychologist’s nude body. She sat cross-legged directly in front of him as he looked upon her torso. He still didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“This is a little weird for me, doc,” he finally uttered.

“I understand that,” Effington replied, “but let’s discuss your relationships.”

“My relationships?”

“Yes. Your romantic ones perhaps?”

Bill chuckled. “That’s irrelevant,” he said, “now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to return to my cell.”

Dr. Effington shifted in her seat. She quickly uncrossed her legs, briefly exposing her herself before placing one leg over the other. “Please make this work, Mr. Lorenz,” she said, “now, what can you tell me about Susan? Were you ever romantically involved with her?”

Bill began to sweat a little. “Ummm, I don’t think I’m prepared to talk about that just yet,” he stuttered.

“Fair enough. Did you have any other partners?”

“Ehh, not many.”

“Why is that?”

Dr. Effington was holding a pen at the corner of her mouth, drawing attention to her lips. Bill looked down to her bare feet, noticing her painted toe nails. This slightly aroused him as that provided a bit of color to what he though was her otherwise dry personality.

“Well, umm, I guess that’s a good question. I suppose I was either too busy or didn’t think I was desirable enough,” he said.

“Did you always have a low sex drive?”

“Uhh, well…,” Bill then unzipped his jumpsuit and touched himself. “…I don’t think so.”

Dr. Effington began speaking in a slower, softer voice. “Why don’t you find yourself sexually desirable?” she asked.

“I…I guess I’ve always felt unwanted.”

“By whom?”

Bill started losing concentration as he continued to pleasure himself. “I don’t know. My family?” he said.

“Do you wish to explore that? Did you feel neglected by your mother, perhaps?”

As he began to near climax, Bill ignored the question entirely. “Doctor, can you please uncross your legs?” he requested.

“Not right now,” she said, “we still have to make it through this session.”

“Just let me touch you. Any part of you. Let me touch your knee.”

As he reached out, Bill’s heart monitor released several volts of energy, shocking him to the floor. He convulsed on the ground for a few seconds, then he vomited. A few nurses rushed in and helped him back to his seat.

“Mr. Lorenz, you were instructed to not touch me,” Dr. Effington said. Then she stood up and slipped on her long coat. “I hope you heed to that warning next time. But you’ve done well on your first session. When I see you again in a few days, I hope we can pick up where we left off. Good day.”

The nurses picked up Bill by the arms and carried him out of the office. After a quick physical examination, the nurses released him and Junior escorted him back to his cell.

TO BE CONTINUED…

the shape of things to come

Had a dream where I was back in the Army. David Duchovny’s character from Californication was also court-ordered to serve. He was a complete fuckin asshole and I beat the shit out of him.

I tend to do that in dreams because I have unaddressed anger issues.

Unfortunately the Army was doing some time-travel experiments. So they put me to sleep and I woke up in a gutter, shoeless, and covered in piss. I grab some dude off the street.

“What year is it?!” I ask him.

“6025,” he said.

“6025? Why aren’t we exploring space?!”

The man began to cry. “We just plum forgot about it 🤷‍♂️,” he replied.

The future didn’t look that much different from the present. Except that people were much taller, more androgynous, and looked younger.

People were attending grade school in their 30s. The world grew so complicated that it took several decades before anyone could become “adults”.

I was getting some strange looks.

“You don’t have to be bald, ya know?” the receptionist lady told me. They made me go to therapy to update my appearance. “Male-pattern baldness was eradicated centuries ago.”

I wept for joy. “Please move my hairline forward and don’t make me a redhead 😭😭😭,” I said.

I had a full head of hair but I was still short as shit.

As I was driving through Chicago to get to O’Hare, the roads were paved with with old, derelict cars. This system wasn’t perfect though. As I went under an overpass, an old 1950s-style truck fell from the bridge and killed several motorists.

I was fine though.

Honestly, this future sucked. One thing was pretty accurate however: material conditions made life so comfortable that people viewed fiction as more of a reality than reality itself. The only struggle people had was the ones provided by entertainment.

Therapy to cope with the death of a beloved TV character? Sounds about right to me! 😀

on being a lazy sack o’ shit

If any “alcoholic” tells you that it is easier to quit alcohol than to quit nicotine then you know that they aren’t a real alcoholic.

Quitting nicotine has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Sure, I got pissed off a lot. I cried a few times. Hell, some days I’d even stare into the void and ponder ways to kill myself. But I overcame it.

And through these trials and tribulations, I’ve come to realize something: this blog is a pain in my ass.

As usual, I keep coming across the same old solution: I need to stop doing so much.

Is life a race?

You’re damn right it is. I want to get all this living over with. But why make life more painful than it needs to be?

That’s another thing that pisses me off…why does it take so much for people to be happy? You’re breathing right? You can pay the bills, correct? You have access to internet pornography? What fucking more do you need?

“But I gotta feed my kids 😭,” you say

Or

“I gotta have insulin for my Type II diabetes 😭.”

Don’t worry about it. You know why? Cuz God provides.

“God will provide for my crippling gambling debts 😀?”

He sure will.

Of course I don’t need God. I’m much too powerful for that bullshit. But you do.

It takes real strength to admit weakness. At least keep telling yourself that. As for me, I have no weaknesses.

But the point is you gotta recognize your own weaknesses before you can start making improvements. And I’ve realized that my so called “weakness” is trying to take on too much responsibility.

So actually, I don’t have a problem at all. I’m just a too damn good of a person.

So say ‘no’ to paying your bills and staying healthy, and ‘yes’ to more drugs and internet pornography.

I’m just doing what my therapist told me to do 🤷‍♂️

the long, hot summer

Where were my parents growing up?

What was I doing watching such classics as The Deer Hunter, Taxi Driver, Paris Texas, and Caligula before the age 13?

In fact, I was right about to turn 13 when I watched Caligula for the first time. It was a long, boring summer. I was dragging ass on mowing the yard. My dog puked on the tile floor. And instead of taking care of both of those problems, for whatever reasons we had a rented copy of Caligula so I popped it in the DVD player.

I remember the moment better than I remember 9/11.

Next thing I know, Malcolm McDowell was fucking his sister, penises were everywhere, and there was blood. So, so much blood (with a few blowjobs to boot).

I just didn’t see it coming.

Hardcore porn and bloody movies weren’t anything new to me. But when they got mixed together, you go from being aroused to utterly horrified in one frame. It’s too much for a young mind to take in.

I was so traumatized by the experience, I couldn’t watch it again until I was 20.

But now I’m happy that it’s being recognized as a truly awful classic, and a marquee role for Malcolm McDowell and a disgustingly hott Helen Mirren. It’s been therapeutic for me to say the least.

tf is narcissism?

“Narcissistic personality disorder” is HOT right now. I think it’s surpassed “borderline personality disorder” as the cool thing to have.

In all seriousness though, I think there’s been a turn in the psychological community. “Pop psychology” has turned disorders into badges of honor, or an identity, to the point where individuals no longer concern themselves with improvement and instead use their “disorder” as an excuse to continue shitty behavior then expect society to deal with it.

Of course, I’m speaking from personal experience. Obviously I’m an insane person that’s maladapted to society and require the services of doctors and therapists to help me. That has been the case since I was a teenager. When I first started seeking medical attention for my behavioral ailments, psychiatrists and therapists were in a mad dash to “diagnose” me into a neat category. Now, 93 years later, they don’t give a shit about that. It doesn’t matter. They just want to make sure that I don’t jump into traffic whenever I’m out in the public. That’s the important thing.

Anyways, personal anecdote aside, I’m fascinated by narcissism and the nature of mental disorders. I won’t get into that because it’s a lot of armchair philosophizing on my part, but is the prevalence of “narcissism” and “narcissistic personality disorder” a reflection of societal shifts?

I reckon that “narcissism” and “narcissistic personality disorder” are not synonymous, but I do think they share a link with the rise of radical individualism and consumer culture.

I’m not a psychologist. Thank god. But I can say with near certainty that I’ve been blessed with having not one, but two people very close to me have NPD. Crazy people have a tendency to attract other crazy people. Go figure. (I may say more about this at another time)

One was charismatic and the other a complete fucking moron, but they shared this commonality: when most people have an interaction with somebody, say someone they just met, all sorts of assumptions are being made. Most of these assumptions, by both parties, are not expressed and are usually rationalized as being just ASSUMPTIONS. Nothing more. There’s a wall of rationality between perception and reality, and most people are good at distinguishing between the two. A narcissist, at least the ones I’ve met, don’t have that ability.

The narcissist’s perceptions get projected onto the reality at hand, and they’re not able to tell where their emotions end and where objective reality begins. In my instances, both individuals reacted harshly against being labeled a liar. It was obvious that they had difficulty with the truth, but in their mind, they weren’t lying.

What this has to do with society at large, I don’t know. It’s merely conjecture on my part.

No I will not explain further.

u know what I hate? Your face

“I have a gambling problem,” I told my therapist. “I can’t control myself. I’ve been acting manically: I’ll have advantageous, uncharacteristic sex with my wife. I sometimes load a bullet into a revolver and stare down the barrel. I’ll go 90 in a school zone. I’ll straight up snort Adderall. What’s wrong with me doc?”

“It’s okay, I made the same mistake,” he said.

“You’re a gambleholic too?”

“No, I had sex with your wife.”

THE END