It's All Intramental

I walked into the therapist’s office and looked around. The place looked like Puff the Magic Dragon had eaten the teletubbies and all the glow sticks of a rave party, then barfed them all up on the walls and floor. The place even smelled like it.

But, this guy was the cheapest real therapist in town.
So, I sat on the neon purple, shag-carpeted couch.

The therapist, Dr. Wii Dusmoker, walked in. His long, silver hair was tied back in a pony tail, and he was wearing sunglasses with purple tinted lenses, inside no less.

“So, Sir Uptight & Stressed-A-Lot, what’s up, man?” he asked.

I grit my teeth, but responded politely. “Doctor, I’ve been having problems with my anger, lately.”

“Dude, it’s all intramental.”

“Intramental?” I asked.

“Yeah, man… The anger’s all in your mind, dude…It’s all what you make of it, man…” he nodded slowly, his eyes closed.

It’s all intramental I mused Yeah, real complicated there, Doctor…

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