Therapy Session 2

As EE opened the door, sweltering heat carried the smell of rotting flesh and excrement out of the psychiatrist's office. The three Gorges Dam would not have stopped EE's stomach. Doctor Passengi stood in the middle of the room vacuuming up flies with a purple Dyson. Trays of wiggling Day-Glo colored maggots filled the waiting room. He handed EE a bag.

"Use this. I can't stand the smell of upchuck. Close that door, maggots hate cold. I wanted to tell you personally, this is our last session."

"I'm cured?" EE gasped for air.

"No, smear this under your nose to cuts the smell." Passengi handed him a camphor jar. "Blogger-induced-anxiety isn't real." Passengi set a screen over a wastebasket and dumped a tray of maggots onto it. The writhing mass of repugnance slithered through. EE tried not to look.

"But you've been so supportive."

"Correction, I willingly listened. No unpaid person willingly listens to hysteria loons. I rode your wave of blogger adoration. I gave you fanatics hope when said I had a direct line to your goddess, Queen Snark and her little doggie Killjoy. You guys coughed up big bucks. Great shit while it lasted but as Claire Booth Luce once said, no good deed goes unpunished and my punishment is Internet forgetfulness." Passengi shook the screen and ammonia vapors filled the air. Tears streamed down EE's face.

"You mean," EE's vision spun, truth induced nausea. He took a deep breath, choked on the fetidness.

"You'll be in the well-qualified hands of the Sphincter Brothers -- Have Couch Will Travel. They'll satisfy your need for Snark stuff. As for me, if I sell a million Day-Glo maggots each week at 10 cents apiece, I'll be rich beyond the dreams of avarice."

"I am fortune's fool!" EE said.

--Dave F.