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Pathetic Bob’s Naked Therapy

OK, so I’m at my desk and decide to check in on Pathetic Bob, my dead dog. I pulled the potted plant close, I grabbed a leaf and put it to my ear. I got through right away, and Bob sounded excited.

“Hey Em,” he shouted,”guess what? come on, come guess what?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” I said.”Did something good happen to you?”

“You bet, I’m naked, I’m naked, I’m naked! Wow, it feels really great.”

Admittedly, Bob has surprised me before, but I never expected something like this. “Whoa, whoa, Bob, you were already naked, how could you become naked again?”

“Ha! I was never really naked. Sure, the skin around my genitals was naked, but most of the rest of me was covered in hair. I had Kieth the Duck shave me, and now I’m really naked. Gloriously naked.”

“Well, just why do you want to be naked?”

“Because I’ve never been naked before, I wanted the experience.”

“I get that, but being naked is not as great as you might think.”

“Why, I don’t see any problems.”

“Take a look around you, Bob. Do you see any other animals or humans naked?”

Bob took a minute. “Well, now that you mention it,”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Uh,,,a little silly I guess. I feel eyes on me, and it’s uncomfortable.”

“Well, there you go. Being naked can be great fun, but being naked in front others is often embarrassing. Getting naked in front of the right person can be spectacular, but you’ll find you don’t want to see them naked all the time, except the Victoria’s Secret underwear models.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll talk to the sheep about borrowing some wool until my hair grows back.”

“Not a bad plan, Bob. Hey, listen, I wanted to tell you I went to my therapist yesterday.”

“Oh, your knee been acting up?

“No, not that kind of therapist, a mind therapist. A psychologist, His name is Doctor Y.”

“Doctor Y? Is he Chinese?”

“No. I just didn’t want to give his full name, you know, so people won’t bother him. You would find him and convince him to tell me weird things about myself. He’s a cognitive behavioral therapist, and I want you to leave him alone.”

“That sounds fancy, what does he do to you?”

“You’re being intrusive Bob. I’m not sure I want to go there with you.”

“Do you get naked and talk about mind stuff?”

“No, no, it’s not like that at all. It’s talk therapy, but we both wear out clothes.He kinda tries to find irrational or catastrophic thinking on my part and redirect my thinking into a more positive direction.”

“Do you pay this guy money?”

“Well…yes I do. It’s money well spent. Anyway, I told him about my recent reconnection with you, and he thinks it is a positive step.”

“He knows about me?”

“Yes, I’ve told him quite a bit about you.”

“And he knows I’m dead?”

“That’s right.” I was a little indignant.

“OK Em, let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re paying money to this guy, I mean “doctor,” to let you talk to him about all your weirdness. And, this doctor thinks it’s a good thing that you are talking to a dead dog, that it is somehow beneficial for you to channel me through a potted plant leaf and talk to me and my friend Keith, a dead duck. That this is all for the betterment of your mental health?”

“Well, that’s kinda what he implied.I think he’s right. I feel better talking to you and Kieth.”

“Em, you are one crazy mother. But don'[t stop coming around…it keeps me sane.”

 

 

“”

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Tree Sperm and Snake Messages

Mountain Cedar – the bane of allergy sufferers.
Bill the Cat

The last time my dead dog (Pathetic Bob)  and I communicated,) I told him we could no longer use Bill the Cat as a medium to channel Bob. I was afraid the cat might start suffering some kind of brain impairment.  Since a medium had to be something living Bob suggested using a plant. As luck would have, it, I have a nice potted plant next to my desk. It is some kind of ivy and has long tendrils hanging off it. Today, I picked up one of those tendrils and brought ir across my desk and put one of the leafs against my ear. It worked.

“Bob, Bob, are you out there?”

After a few seconds of low buzzing, Pathetic Bob came through.  “Hey Em, I’m here. What the heck is up with you,;  you sound like you have a squid in your head.”

“No, no squid. My head is filled with snot and my lungs  are harboring some nasty, vicious flu.”

“Jeez, you sound real attractive. I wouldn’t plan on getting jiggy with Mrs.  Em tonight.

He kinda pissed me off, “You are getting a little too personal there Bob.”

He shot back,”OK, fine, fine. Bet I can tell you why you are all squid-sounding.”

I knew I might regret this, but I said, “OK Doctor Bob, what’s my problem”

“You’re suffering from an invasion of tree sperm.”

“Jeez, Bob….”

“Wait a minute Em, just listen. You live in South Central Texas, the home gazillion cedar trees. Every year at this time, the trees get horny and want to procreate. It’s a veritable orgy, and you are in the middle of it.”

He was getting me jacked up.”Well, Bob what the hell can I do about it?”

“Put a condom over your head.”

“Bob…”

“Just messing with you Em. The best advice II can give is  drink a lot of liquid, eat chicken soup, put a mustard plaster on your chest, drink some more water, and whine. I already know you got the whining part down.”

“I tried to change the subject. “So where is Kieth the Duck, he wanted to tell me some stories?”

A Relaxing Snake Massage

“He does, but right now he is over by one of the rivers getting a snake message. I’ve had one from a python, and it feels pretty good.”

“Sounds about as disgusting as what I just coughed into my tissue.”

“Jeez Em, you’re such a wuss. Since snakes and other beings aren’t allowed to kill or injure anyone. so it’s safe. And, it gives the snakes a way to practice their natural born instincts by squeezing a body. What you get is a deep-tissue massage and a happy snake.”

“Whatever works for you. Say Bob, I need some help.”

“I’ve always got your back em, you know that.”

“Hmm, Well, I need a metaphor.”

“What kinda metaphor?”

“A tree metaphor, and it’s not a cedar tree so I don’t need any tree sex talk. I need a metaphor for live-oak trees, you know those big, wide canopy trees with branches that shoot off in all directions. They are magnificent, but I can’t come up with a good metaphor and I thought you or Kieth could help.”

“We can give it a try. There are some pretty literate people here. Perhaps I could query them.

“Yeah well query your little tail off, I’m in kind of a hurry here.

“OK, we’ll get right on it as soon as Kieth gets back from his message. Oh, and Em, try those home remedies, they really work. Whoops, time’s up, gotta go. By Em.”

The plant leaf began to undulate which I took to mean the conversation had been concluded. I gently put the leaf and tendril back close to the pot and said,”Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dead Duck

Ever since Pathetic Bob–my dead dog–connected  me through Bill the Cat, I’ve been trying to get back in touch. Bill has been wary of jumping on my desk. However, I devised a plan to get him up here. You see, I got a couple pieces of talapia and set them on a plate, on my desk. Bam! he was on that fish like a cat on fish. (Sorry, my simiies are running dry).

After a couple bites, Bill went into his bug-eyed fugue state. and I heard  Pathetic Bob’s voice: “Hey Em, Happy New Year.” He sounded

“Same to you Bob.  Say, I

want to ask you something….”

“Yeah, we’ll get back to that, but first I have surprise.”

“Oh Jeez,”I thought “what’s he up to.”

“OK Em, have you ever heard the expression ‘He’s a dead duck’?”

“Well, I guess I have.”

Well guess what…I got one.”

“One what?”

“A dead duck you idiot. His name is Keith. He’s from Canadia and was shot down someplace over Eastern Oregon. No worries though, he slipped out of his body on the way down and landed here…wherever ‘here’ is. Would you like to talk with him?”

“I don’t know Bob, I’ve never spoken to a duck, alive or dead. What would we talk about.”

Next, a voice like Irish Malt Whiskey traveled through Bill the Cat and into my head. “Hello Mr. Em. My friend Bob has told me a bit about you, and I’m intrigued.”

“I’m not that intriguing, really. I mostly sit around reading and writing about dead animals in my head. I used to be intriguing, but when Pathetic Bob died, I dried up. Now that he is sorta back I hope to move up the intriguing scale a couple of notches.”

“Well, I’m glad you are writing again. Perhaps I could relate several incidents in my life that you might want to put into your words.”

“Uhhh, Kieth is it?

“Yes sir.”

“Well Kieth, that sounds interesting. Why don’t I get back to you on that?”

“Wow, that would be great. I’ve never really talked to a human before. You’re not a hunter are you

“No, I’m not. Now Kieth, can I talk to Bob again?”

In a instant, the tone of the voice changed and Bob was back in my head. “So Em, whatta you thing? Kieth a pretty interesting mallard, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s great, but Bob I need to ask you a few things.”

“Sorry Em, but we get so much time to channel, and mine is about up.”

“Quik, one thing. I don’t want to have to channel you through Bill the Cat. He’s getting creeped out, and I don’t want screw with his head anymore.”

Bob thought for a moment. “Tell you what, you get a plant you could use?”

“Yeah.”

“So next time you want to talk, hold a plant leaf to your good ear, and we’ll see hoe it goes.’

“I guess so.” Bill the Cat put his eyes back in his head, grabbed the talapia, and sprinted off to his secret spot among the elephant ears next to the pool