I'm Sick

Ah, crap. So I get this crazy bit of news the other day, right? Turns out I'm sick, really sick.

It seems I have what is called a Peter Pan complex, an inability to grow up. My doctor, the esteemed Dr. Ruth Westheimer, told me that, while my complex isn't in the later stages, it appears to be heading there fast.

In fact, a panel composed of her, Dr. Frasier Crane, Dr. Leonard Nimoy, and Dr. John Zoidberg found that my Peter Pan complex is practically incurable and that the chances of a Peter Pan less future for me are slim. And I don't even get a Tinkerbell or an ability to fly! (That last part was my failed attempt at a joke. Damn you, PPC! You rob me of my sense of humor!!)

I refuse to take Dr. Westheimer's diagnosis of me lying down. After all, it is not her area of expertise, not by a long shot. (Very long :))

In fact, tomorrow I have an appointment with a Jennifer Melfi. Maybe she can get to the bottom of this.

After that, maybe Paul Weston can take a shot at me. I mean, yeah he's good, but, between you and me, I think he's a bit of a whack job himself.