Evil Editor Classics

Evil Psychiatrist

Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

I'm told I look just like you. Yesterday, the gorgeous woman who does my in-home foot massages every Friday came on to me. Should I look for a new masseuse?

--Troubled

No, keep the masseuse; just sell me your house.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

I'm having trouble meeting quality men. I don't think my standards are too high. Where do all the educated, clean-living fellas hang out these days?

--Lonely Lover

Most of us are on our computers, blogging or looking for free porn . . . Got any pics?


Dear Evil Psychiatrist:

Suppose I was involved in an axe-murder type incident, and that my involvement may, in fact, be more traceable than I first anticipated. How soon should I start therapy sessions in order to effectively plead insanity?

--Not Guilty

Screw therapy. Dig up the body of the person you didn't axe-murder. Roast it and eat it. Problem solved.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

I see dead people. Walking around like regular people. Cherry-flavored Pez is my favorite. What's yours?

--Spooked in Spokane

It's not the flavor of what comes out that matters, sweetheart; it's the size of the dispenser.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

Whenever I hear about friends of mine finding great agents or getting three-book deals for big money, I have to fight the urge to poke out their eyes with a paperclip and then slit my wrists. Does that make me a bad person? And what would you recommend I do to deal with this crippling, horrible jealousy?

Ironically, I liked your idea about an aspiring author who pokes her rivals' eyes out. I ran it by an agent, who has taken me on. Says she can get me a three-book contract and a movie deal. Oh, and listen, I can't pay, but I could use a ghostwriter for the books.


Dear Evil Psychiatrist,

My husband is a marketing executive for a well known manufacturer of cleaning supplies, and for the past year he’s been taking frequent business trips across the country in order to promote the product launch of their new spot remover. He often performs product demonstrations on his own clothing to impress clients and “close the deal.” The result is that sometimes his clothes come home with faded stains of chocolate, red wine, lipstick, and on one occasion, semen. Am I being paranoid?

Addled in Allentown

Let's put it this way, honey: Either your husband's spot remover sucks, or his clients do.