I told my psychiatrist, “Every time I get into bed, I think there’s somebody under it.”
“Come to me three times a week for two years, and I’ll cure your fears,” says the shrink. “And I’ll charge you only £200 a visit.”
I said I'll think about it. Six months later, he runs into the psychiatrist who asks why he never came back. “For £200 a visit?” I said. “A bartender cured me for £10.
Told me to cut the legs off the bed!!!
I went to see my psychiatrist once. I told him I keep thinking I'm a dog. He asked me, "How long have you been feeling like this" I said, " Since I've been a puppy"