My First Day Without a Therapist (The Ease of Beating a Stalker)

My Life Story:

A large man, eating shrimp, trying to prove he’s Gentile, as the union manager, for a comic company, that doesn’t exist.

I’m a political scientist and an accountant, that’s my actual job, but I got waylaid from my father trying to introduce a Confucian Ninja, a combination of severe lotus training, and sauna dunks with cold water, into Catholicism, for Kelly Rodenbaugh, a psychiatrist in training whose mother showed her my psychiatric IQ score in kindergarten.

I beat my therapy program, yesterday, I’m being removed from therapy.

I’m in a dating relationship, with every doctor I’ve ever seen, male or female, I finally got a therapist to realize it’s not me showing transference, it’s them.

North Korea runs psychiatric unions through women’s hostess strategies for diplomacy, any woman in a position of power in a psychiatric union, with records, is a de facto North Korean agent.

Gooks.

All a psychiatrist is supposed to do is collect piss for a blood test for your platelets levels, low platelets means you’re cured.

The guy with the office is a priest.

He’s trying to figure out why you don’t want a marriage brokered by a homosexual political figure.

I’m an Elizabeth Warren supporter, I don’t think it was her.

She doesn’t do it.

Published by cheater120

Consider me an expert in information munitions. I practice Zazen meditation, Yakuza Trappist form (a Yakuza, games cheat, and Trappist, a counter-agent), as a Bonafuda, a mercantile salesmen of information through philosophy, literature, fiction, and academics, distributed as munitions technique deployed for the purpose apparent to you, unless of course you have violated the ethics of my piece, in which case you will be trapped inside a theft of the piece and an action within the boundaries of the violation you have committed in Benedictine culture, the Jewish affiliate within Catholic culture. Buyer beware, and these poems, are free.

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