Today, reader, we’re in for a great session. A session with Dr. Flynn, Psychiatrist Man. I know I could use a visit with a shrink at this point. Although the only thing I can think to say at this point is whyyyyyyy? Just why? Why, why, why, why, why, why . . .
Pardon me. I managed to catch Dr. Flynn just as he was leaving the masked ball and he agreed to meet with me in his office late at night. He says he does this with all his clients. Also, he has a cage in his office instead of a couch. I’m a little suspicious but he says this is a “new kind of therapy.”
Alice: Dr. Flynn, I’m glad you made room in your busy schedule to . . . is there something hissing in your desk drawer?
Flynn: Possibly. How does that make you feel, Alice?
Alice: Let’s get to the questions. How long have you been Christian’s psychiatrist?
Flynn: Oh, it’s been ages.
Alice: Don’t you have actual records?
Flynn: Oh, no. While he’s talking to me, I just doodle on my notepad. See these are my notes from the last session.
Alice: That’s a pony jumping over a rainbow.
Flynn: Impressive, isn’t it? So I guess you’d like me to tell you all about Christian.
Alice: You can’t do that. There’s that doctor / patient confidentiality thing.
Flynn: Oh, posh. Christian and I are great friends. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me telling you how fucked up he is. He’s 50 shades of fucked up, you know. I told him that in our first session. I said, “Wow, you’re 50 shades of fucked up.”
Alice: Just . . . I don’t even . . .
Flynn: We had such a great time at the masked ball. First we ate. Would you like to see the entire menu? Or a list of all of the prizes offered for a meaningless drawing?
Alice: Why would anyone need to see that? You’re showing it all to me anyway. Of course you are.
Flynn: After we ate, there was this fundraiser. Worthy cause. Something about kids and drugs. Maybe it pays for their drugs, I don’t know. Anyway, they had a bidding war for a first dance with the ladies. I bid on his girlfriend, and then he bid more, and I bid more, and it was so much fun.
Alice: You . . . bid on your client’s girlfriend?
Flynn: Sure, why not?
Alice: Because you’re a freaking psychiatrist! You aren’t supposed to be friends with your clients, or spend time after hours with your client, and you sure as hell are not supposed to BID on their girlfriends.
Flynn: You are so closed minded, Alice. It’s not like I won her anyway. Christian bid 100,000 dollars on her, and I really couldn’t go over 25,000 dollars.
Alice: I didn’t think psychiatrists were quite that wealthy.
Flynn: It helps when you charge 50,000 per session. So after the bidding, I cut in on a dance with the lovely Ana. She’s such a beauty, and so smart too! Did you know she plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga?
Alice: I buy the yoga part, since Christian twists her into a pretzel routinely. The only instrument she plays, though, is her vagina, and she can’t even speak English well, much less Mandarin. Why would she need to speak Mandarin anyway?
Flynn: Because Ana is a special snowflake and can do anything! She can even dance while vaginal balls are stuffed up her hoo ha.
Alice: That’s the kind of skill you could put on a resume.
Flynn: Isn’t it? Ah, those crazy lovebirds are always being crazy! They snuck off a couple of times to bump and grind. I know because I listened at his bedroom door.
Alice: That is creepy and weird.
Flynn: They did have some trouble with Christian’s Mrs. Robinson. Cute name for his molester, don’t you think?
Flynn: She warned Ana to not hurt Christian, and then Christian called her and told her to quit bothering her.
Alice: I thought they were both at the same ball. Why call her?
Flynn: Because . . . well, next they had fireworks, and you know how Ana is fascinated by shiny things! She was so cute. They had security all around since Leila has been stalking them. But Ana was rightly most concerned about Mrs. Robinson, who passed her a note saying she’d beat her up if she messed with Christian and to, you know, call her.
Flynn: Oh, her car was also vandalized. Someone took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all four tires and carved her name into the leather seats . . . wait, that’s a country song. No, someone threw paint on her car and slashed the tires. Of course that someone is Leila, cause who else would want to do that to Ana? Scary, isn’t it?
Alice: Not really.
Flynn: So they left, but later Christian called me so upset! He needed counseling because someone broke into his apartment! I told him to go in and check it out himself.
Alice: Good plan there. Last question. What do you think of Ana?
Flynn: Well, I just adore her, but not enough to go against Christian! That guy used to beat the shit out of his classmates when he was a kid. A real juvenile delinquent. Isn’t that charming?
Alice: Hey, that fits right in on that last question on my psychopath survey. I knew it!
Flynn: Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going to tell you about Christian’s issues, or we’d be here all night! Get it? That’s a psychiatrist joke.
Alice: No it’s not. Where exactly did you get your degree?
Dr. Flynn: Are you trying to call me an expensive charlatan? Because I’ll have you know I’ve got real degrees from ShrinksRUsUniversity.
Alice: That’s not a university.
Dr. Flynn: It is on the internet. See, I’ve even got a certificate.
Alice: That’s an adoption form for a Cabbage Patch Doll.
Dr. Flynn: Ah, well, university degrees are for elitists.
Alice: Uh huh. Well, I think that’s all the questions I have for you.
Dr. Flynn: If you ever need a shrink, give me a call, hmm?
Alice: Sure. I’m just going to, you know, back out of here slowly and watch you the entire time, ‘kay? Bye now.
Where did you get that amazing picture of Dr. Flynn? I so enjoyed their “conversation” when they danced. It was very natural.
Doesn’t he look debonair and not at all creepy? I like how he’s patting the couch – like, no thanks. He wanted to pose a bunch of different ways, but darn the luck, I was out of battery in my camera. And oh, yeah, all the conversation is totally natural and realistic in this book.
Wait — what was in the drawer? A snake? An angry cat? A leaky balloon? I hope it’s not a cat — I’d hate to think of a cat trapped in those awful books.
Not sure what it was, but I’m not going back to check. I feel for anything stuck in those awful books.