Case Study #4

This just in from left-field:

Dr. Brian, did Mikey really die from eating exploding pop rocks?

And Dr. Brian responds:

Well then, this is going to be a treat.

First, why would you even care about the answer to this question? Judging by the fingerpaint smears on the torn sheet from your Big Chief tablet where you scribbled this question, you can't possibly have achieved puberty. The Mikey incident you reference occured over 30 years ago. There is no way you could have a personal interest in Mikey or his passing. You are a rude little child with no manners.

Obviously, your parents are to blame. By calculating the angle and degree of fingerpaint splatter on your "submission form" (yes, you irritating urchin, watching "CSI" can be useful, perhaps you should try it, if only to learn how you might die), it is apparent that there was no supervision during the painting session. My analysis indicates that gallons of said fingerpaint were violated by your actions. Did you perhaps BATHE in the chalky fluid? Or is it that you have no motor skills whatsoever?

A good parent would never allow this unruliness. Proper parenting dictates that, should a child dare to exhibit artistic tendencies, there are strict guidelines which must be followed to avoid terror and heartbreak. As we all know, "artistes" are really just budding sociopaths teetering toward a life of alchohol and crime. Strident measures must be taken to prevent your little Picasso from one day going on a murderous rampage at the Piggly Wiggly. Clearly, the parents in this scenario did not follow the manual.

So we've settled that. Your parents suck.

But alas, as a proper physician for the neurotic and generally boring, I feel I must address your actual question, if only for legal reasons. Yes, Mikey did indeed breathe his last after ingesting chemically-treated sugar. These things happen, especially in the wanton days of the 70's when peanut farmers could become President. And people in synthetic leisure suits were running rampant, what with the gold chains and all. It was a terrible time. How this nation survived, I do not know.

But you, young artiste with your useless questions, do not have to suffer the same fate as a certain spoiled youngster who managed to look cute whilst consuming mass-produced cereal. You can rise above the evil sirens of bohemia, taunting you with their beckoning calls to stray down the rotted path of poetic license. Put down the fingerpaints, you warped and miserable child, and seek refuge in the mundane platitudes of normalcy. And avoid sugar at all costs.

Best of luck,
Dr. Brian

P.S. Please return the paperweight you surreptiously snatched from my desk. There was no door prize in our session. Thank you.

Case Study #3

And now we have a Vin Diesel pseudo-wannabe weighing in:

Q: Dr Brian, why do idiots run the world?

Dear Asshat,

The answer is quite simple: Because idiots are allowed to have unprotected sex.

Idiots don't know how to do anything else. They can't comprehend words with more than three letters, they only have two functioning brain cells so original thought is not a possibility, and they are incapable of contributing to society in any way. Worthless.

But they've got that sex thing down. The idiot male dimly understands that they have an inflated appendage that must be inserted somewhere. The idiot female dimly understands that she has a climate-controlled storage facility where Billy Bob can place his best friend. Repeatedly. Of course, both the male and the female are stunned when a child shoots out months later. Even after 8 children.

So it becomes a mathematical situation. Responsible, practical, intelligent people take appropriate measures to ensure that the slap and tickle escapades do not lead to an abundance that is detrimental to our planet. But the idiots have not evolved. They missed the Gene Train. Due to their nasty humpa humpa primal instincts, the world is completely out of balance. Thousands of dead walking the earth for every one person that has actually read something more substantive than the back of a cereal box. Eventually, those walking zombies will gain positions of power due to their overwhelming number. And they have.

See, it wasn't always this way. Nature had it's own design, back in the day of the dinosaur and the caveman. Stupid people died. And rightly so. You want to sit on your ass in the cave while everyone else is out hunting and gathering? Fine. You don't eat when the tribe gets back. And eventually you die. You want to mess with the storage facility of an equally dim counterpart instead of running like hell and hiding when a T-Rex appears, then you deserve to die. You don't want to understand that just because you put lipstick on a rock a pray to it, that does not make the rock a God? Perish. And I don't mean Hilton.

Of course, there have been well-meaning attempts to rid the world of idiots throughout the centuries. These campaigns were all a bust. The Great Pyramids of Egypt? The pharoahs didn't give a damn about those things. They just wanted to send stupid people out in the desert to work themselves to death in the heat. But they wouldn't die. No, they just kept hauling crap up that incline and going back down for more.

The Black Plague? There was no virus. This was all about stealthy people running around with poison-tipped blow darts, aiming for anyone with two first names wearing a "Dukes of Hazzard" t-shirt. Did a pretty good job, but a failure in the end. Those dang idiots are like cockroaches. You hold a lightbulb over their head and they'll scatter, but they'll be back for the pizza crust later.

The Salem Witch trials? Okay, they got a little bit too arty there, what with bibles as props and those silly outfits and all that pointless writhing in pain. And little girls getting a wee bit uppity and straying from the Hit List just because some boy was cuter than another. But at least they tried. Sadly, times were changing, folks were starting to talk about this "human kindness" thing, and some people were actually offended by idiot-kabobs roasting on a stick. Who knew? The writhing stopped.

So society "progresses", although I have severe reservations about using that term. Now we have actual laws and governmental bailout programs to protect and actually encourage the stupid and irresponsible. You're not allowed to kill them. How effed is that? What went wrong where? Stupid people contribute NOTHING. Hello? But I'm not bitter.

The solution? Well, if we can give auto-makers billions of dollars for assinine decisions, and billions more to drop leaflets over third-world countries saying "just abstain from using storage facilities", then surely there's some spare change lying around somewhere for a network of specialized sterilization centers. Off with the nuts, I say. Of course, this operation will need to be carefully planned so that the idiots are clueless (THAT shouldn't take more than a paragraph in the documentation), the conservatives won't feel threatened in their quest to force women to give birth even if they aren't really that interested in doing so, and the liberals won't get all wonky about supposed human rights violations. Tricky, but it can be done.

So, we fake a cover story that these are clinics to FIGHT sterility, we live for nothing other than to make sure those little swimmers are really strong and really focused. We want babies! Yay! (Okay, check the radical right off the list.) To quiet the radical left, we will explain that the centers will consist of hundreds of private rooms in a row, each with their own outside access door for discretionary purposes. There will be armed security on patrol. We might even paint the doors orange. A nice touch.

We will then attract the idiots by advertising them as climate-controlled storage facilities. The drooling will commence, and a-runnin they will come. The code name for these centers will be U-Hell's. In the South, we can call them U-All's. Lorena Bobbitt can be the Executive Director.

I think this will work. Call your congressperson. Now.

With love for all mankind,

Dr. Brian

Case Study #2

And the annoying debutante is back:

Dear Brian, why do phrases like these appear in facebook quiz sections? "What Sort Of "I don't give a f*** I'll eat you" Killer Aquatic Creature Are You?" sincerely, annoying debutante case study #2

And Dr. Brian responds:

Dear Publicity-Seeking Skank,

This is not about you. In any way. Accept and breathe. This is about the thousands of impoverished souls that desperately need my wisdom and guidance. True, you are the only one who has actually knocked on my recycled-rainforest-wood door (Green is the new Black. Or some crap along those lines. I really don't understand my publicist sometimes, but I go with it.). But that does not make you special. It only means that your check cleared the bank and you get to come back for another session.

And this arrogance, this assumption that you get to be "case study #2". Hello? You're ALREADY case study #1. The paperwork on THAT case alone has been overwhelming. My assistants have been working overtime. (Side note, it's amazing how well-conditioned cats are for typing memos and filing affadavits. Who knew?) But the point is, this is not about getting to be #1 and #2. That is a discussion for the White House bedroom.

But since you ARE the only paying customer at the moment (I'm sure there are hundreds of others who just haven't figured out where the parking lot is, the streetlights around here are sorely lacking), I will attempt to hack my way through your minor concerns and dissect your neediness.

Let's see. There's so much low-hanging fruit to pick here...

The manner in which you postulated your question? Sigh. In our last session, what with the attempt to somehow rectify your assault on the basics of grammar by using hardened convict nuns whacking you with rulers, I thought we had moved beyond this impasse. But no. I'm certainly glad that Sally Field won an Emmy for playing "Sybil" in 1976. Yay. But if she had read your question aloud in a public gathering, she would also have won the presidency over Jimmy Carter. Because people would have been terrified to vote otherwise in the face of such a malicious and profane attack on the English language.

Perhaps that's a bit harsh. After all, Jimmy had Billy Carter waiting in the wings, about to unleash his peanut-based Billy Beer on the world. And there was also Amy Carter, the deer-in-the-headlights wonder that would set the stage for frizzy-haired First Daughters, a torch soon carried by "does she watch 'The L Word'?" Chelsea Clinton. So maybe Sally wouldn't have won after all. But it would have been damn close.

And now I really don't know what we were talking about. Oh wait. Something about your concern over odd and profanity-filled quizzes that are available on Facebook. Well, I have discussed this with the cats and other equally-qualified specialists in the field of human psychology. We analyzed and studied and pondered. And we have come to this conclusion:

People are fucking stupid.

Much love,

Dr. Brian

Case Study #1

An annoying debutante writes:

Dear Brian, how much beer, is too much? luv tiffles

And Dr. Brian responds:

Good gawd, woman, why the hell would you ask this question? Are you serious? There is no reason to worry about the limitations on beer, real or imagined or put forth by the voices in your head. There are natural laws of nature that will take care of this issue for you. Just keep drinking. Eventually you will either pass out and awake in a strange bed, or you will die of alcohol poisoning. You are wasting valuable drinking time by even bothering to ponder the implications of your actions. Order another round.

Instead, let's focus on other issues that are more important and screamingly clear in your email. First, you've got to drop the "tiffles" angle. Obviously this is not your real name. No decent parent would ever mark a child with such a pathetic cattle brand, no matter how many episodes of "Dharma and Greg" they have seen, or how many Hallmark cards they may have pawed at Walmart. Stop pretending. If you must take on an assumed name, go with something firm and constructive like "Studebaker" or "Propane". This tells the world that you own your life. "Tiffles" tells the world that you might wet yourself if the milk expires.

Second, let's talk about the grammar. Or better yet, the appalling confirmation that you have no idea what this might be. Yes, I have tremendous insight, and realize there was an incident in the sixth grade where your Dr. Pepper Bonnie Belle Lipsmacker application device malfunctioned, and you spilled the syrupy concoction on your English textbook, thus sealing the pages together for three semesters and you were held back a grade. This is no excuse. You were fixated on your lips, instead of attaining proper communication skills, and you must own the oversight and take steps to rectify the situation. Sign up for classes immediately.

Besides, I can tell by the way you signed your name that the boy you THOUGHT you might be attracting with your wanton lip-prepping had no interest in you. Yes, I am talking about Pete. I can visualize him by the way you parted your hair in the employee ID photo from the time you worked at Casual Corner. Pete did not want you and your glistening beauty products. He wanted to join the wrestling team, and relished the thought of having access to the boys' locker room. I cannot say any more without violating the sanctity of doctor/patient privilege.

So, Miss Studebaker, thus ends our virtual session. Drink more, apply less, and try to act like English is not your second language. Everyone will benefit.

Sincerely,

Dr. Brian