THE MOUND OF TESTES
Recently, I have been having some problems with my friends. You will see how Dr Flinkey solves these problems... this post, and the post above, have been of inestimable value to me in my practice. Problems such as these are commonplace. The words of the Great Dr Flinkey have forged a path for me, and my own patients now think I am a genius!
Dr Flinkey made the darkest night clear, and, in addition, some of my very own delusions were laid bare.
****************
Dear DocFlinkey,
I come to you bereft, and in depsperate need of your aid.
I have a good friend who lives in the outback. The thing that has most sustained him through his life is his deep and abiding interest in sheep testes. In fact, he is an avid collector. I always respected him for having something in his life that he found fulfilling.
But now, I am concerned. In the past two years, his hitherto sensible hobby has become an obsession. He has been sourcing sheep testes from all over the world, and is getting a regular supply from several dealers on ebay. He even mortgaged his house so that he could buy more testicles.
Speaking of his house, the last time I was there, it was getting remarkably full of testes. The last time I spoke with him, he said that he was running out of space in the house, and had now taken to storing them in his car. That was months ago. Try as I might, I am unable to contact him.
My greatest fear is that he has either starved to death (having filled his car with testes, and being unable to drive to the nearest town for food), or has suffocated under a mound of testes.
I am most upset.
What do you advise?
Your concerned patient,
hognogger
Dr Flinkey:
Hmmm.
Let us work though this.
You friend has a hobby.
It makes his life fullfilling
You now see this as an obsession.
Whereas you spend 20 hours per day on a music website, dressed as a tortoise, telling a fake doctor about your troubles. (I will not mention the fact that you have a blow-up doll for a girlfriend and that you sing songs about her and upload them for others so that they may ridicule you.)
I concede that many of you questions are, on face value, directed at bettering the life of your friends.
However, there are underlying currents or themes in your questions. (Let's call them "cries for help.")
1. A self-perception that you are disfigured, mutilated or have bits of your body regularly falling off or hiding from you.
2. A firm belief that you and your "friends" cannot solve their own problems. As a result, you are consumed by irrational fears.
3. You hear otherwise inanimate objects moving around and talking to you.
4. You seek help from a cyber-doctor, with no qualifications, in the full knowledge that there isn't a sane solution in the offering at any stage.
5. You like the word "testes."
Lets face it.
You know the solution but you are too afraid to admit it.
You are...
in Frankston.
Hognogger: You think my friend is dead, don't you...?
Dr Flinkey:
It was my way of breaking it to you gently.
Instead of ramming it home.
(There you go - a little pun to lighten the load.!)
Hognogger:
Well, they held the funeral for my friend the other day; shortly after receiving your lovely words of consolation I received the call from the police.
It was a very sad occasion. The government official, the gravedigger and the 6 other corpses waiting to go into the the same plot, were very moved when I gave a brief eulogy and sprinkled some powdered sheep testes over his cardboard box as it was lowered into the ground.
Anyway, later that evening I returned to the gravesite, as I was a little concerned for my friend. He had been placed at the bottom of the plot, with 6 other corpses on top of him and only a cardboard box for protection. He had always been a man who valued his privacy, and I felt that the least I could do for him was to dig up the grave and reshuffle the contents so that he was on the top of the pile.
Can you imagine my surprise when, after shifting the soil, hefting the other 6 bodies away, and opening the shattered remnants of the cardboard box, my friend's corporeal remains were nowhere to be found, and in his place was........
A mound of sheep testes.
Shocked, I quickly piled the other 6 bodies back into the grave and covered them over.
What is going on????
Dr Flinkey:
The answer, as stated, is obvious.
Take the expression "you are what you eat" and work backwards from the contents of the cardboard box.
If you still don't have a clue, watch a rerun of some Chevy Chase "vacation" movies.
Hognogger:
Oh my...
The things I am seeing.
I now see things as I never have before.
I visited my dear friend's house the other day to see if he had returned home. My vision blurred momentarily, and the old images fell away. I was no longer in the outback, nor was I walking past the gate to the front door of my friend's house.
I was standing at the threshold of the State Museum of Sheep Gonads. There was a man standing beside me, and, seeing that I was disturbed, he gestured to a nearby car, and said he would "take me home".
We arrived, and he motioned me inside. But this was not my home as I remembered it... it was a hospital for the infirm of mind. He took me to my room. Naturally, I immediately went to the phone, in order to call you. But as I grasped it, I realised that what I had in my hand was not a phone, but an empty can of baked beans attached to piece of string. The piece of string stretched out before me, and disappeared, through a tiny hole in the wall, into the adjoining room. Gasping, I ran out of my room, and my eyes fixed on a name-plate. The name-plate was on the door of the adjoining room. The inscription read "Dr. F.K. Flinkenstein".
All my delusions were falling away... I was now seeing the world aright (no doubt, as a result of your ministrations over the years).
And the terrible truth struck me... My friend didn't collect testicles. He, himself, was a mound of sheep testes... an exhibit in the Gonad museum. Over the years of creeping delusion, I had anthropomorphised one particular exhibit at that museum until it seemed to me to be an old friend. I imagined that pile of gonads to be a fine and admirable collector of sheep testes, and constructed an elaborate back-story detailing our shared history... the day we met in the crutching yards, the beers together at the local, and so on...
When I told you that my delusional friend was in danger of dying, you collected the mound of testes from the museum, put them in a cardboard box, called me on the baked-bean-o-phone, while impersonating a policeman with a thick Slavic accent, and informed me that my dear friend had died. You then arranged a sham of a funeral, and secretly celebrated. For you knew that there was deep psychological significance in my coming to believe that my friend would die. The real death was the death of my delusionality.
I would like to thank you, dear doctor, for all that you have done for me, and for all that you will do for me as I continue towards recovery. I hope that I will continue to make good progress over the coming years, and will be fit to leave the ward some time prior to 2015.
Your most grateful patient,
hognogger
Dr Flinkey:
See, I told you it was obvious.
Recently, I have been having some problems with my friends. You will see how Dr Flinkey solves these problems... this post, and the post above, have been of inestimable value to me in my practice. Problems such as these are commonplace. The words of the Great Dr Flinkey have forged a path for me, and my own patients now think I am a genius!
Dr Flinkey made the darkest night clear, and, in addition, some of my very own delusions were laid bare.
****************
Dear DocFlinkey,
I come to you bereft, and in depsperate need of your aid.
I have a good friend who lives in the outback. The thing that has most sustained him through his life is his deep and abiding interest in sheep testes. In fact, he is an avid collector. I always respected him for having something in his life that he found fulfilling.
But now, I am concerned. In the past two years, his hitherto sensible hobby has become an obsession. He has been sourcing sheep testes from all over the world, and is getting a regular supply from several dealers on ebay. He even mortgaged his house so that he could buy more testicles.
Speaking of his house, the last time I was there, it was getting remarkably full of testes. The last time I spoke with him, he said that he was running out of space in the house, and had now taken to storing them in his car. That was months ago. Try as I might, I am unable to contact him.
My greatest fear is that he has either starved to death (having filled his car with testes, and being unable to drive to the nearest town for food), or has suffocated under a mound of testes.
I am most upset.
What do you advise?
Your concerned patient,
hognogger
Dr Flinkey:
Hmmm.
Let us work though this.
You friend has a hobby.
It makes his life fullfilling
You now see this as an obsession.
Whereas you spend 20 hours per day on a music website, dressed as a tortoise, telling a fake doctor about your troubles. (I will not mention the fact that you have a blow-up doll for a girlfriend and that you sing songs about her and upload them for others so that they may ridicule you.)
I concede that many of you questions are, on face value, directed at bettering the life of your friends.
However, there are underlying currents or themes in your questions. (Let's call them "cries for help.")
1. A self-perception that you are disfigured, mutilated or have bits of your body regularly falling off or hiding from you.
2. A firm belief that you and your "friends" cannot solve their own problems. As a result, you are consumed by irrational fears.
3. You hear otherwise inanimate objects moving around and talking to you.
4. You seek help from a cyber-doctor, with no qualifications, in the full knowledge that there isn't a sane solution in the offering at any stage.
5. You like the word "testes."
Lets face it.
You know the solution but you are too afraid to admit it.
You are...
in Frankston.
Hognogger: You think my friend is dead, don't you...?
Dr Flinkey:
It was my way of breaking it to you gently.
Instead of ramming it home.
(There you go - a little pun to lighten the load.!)
Hognogger:
Well, they held the funeral for my friend the other day; shortly after receiving your lovely words of consolation I received the call from the police.
It was a very sad occasion. The government official, the gravedigger and the 6 other corpses waiting to go into the the same plot, were very moved when I gave a brief eulogy and sprinkled some powdered sheep testes over his cardboard box as it was lowered into the ground.
Anyway, later that evening I returned to the gravesite, as I was a little concerned for my friend. He had been placed at the bottom of the plot, with 6 other corpses on top of him and only a cardboard box for protection. He had always been a man who valued his privacy, and I felt that the least I could do for him was to dig up the grave and reshuffle the contents so that he was on the top of the pile.
Can you imagine my surprise when, after shifting the soil, hefting the other 6 bodies away, and opening the shattered remnants of the cardboard box, my friend's corporeal remains were nowhere to be found, and in his place was........
A mound of sheep testes.
Shocked, I quickly piled the other 6 bodies back into the grave and covered them over.
What is going on????
Dr Flinkey:
The answer, as stated, is obvious.
Take the expression "you are what you eat" and work backwards from the contents of the cardboard box.
If you still don't have a clue, watch a rerun of some Chevy Chase "vacation" movies.
Hognogger:
Oh my...
The things I am seeing.
I now see things as I never have before.
I visited my dear friend's house the other day to see if he had returned home. My vision blurred momentarily, and the old images fell away. I was no longer in the outback, nor was I walking past the gate to the front door of my friend's house.
I was standing at the threshold of the State Museum of Sheep Gonads. There was a man standing beside me, and, seeing that I was disturbed, he gestured to a nearby car, and said he would "take me home".
We arrived, and he motioned me inside. But this was not my home as I remembered it... it was a hospital for the infirm of mind. He took me to my room. Naturally, I immediately went to the phone, in order to call you. But as I grasped it, I realised that what I had in my hand was not a phone, but an empty can of baked beans attached to piece of string. The piece of string stretched out before me, and disappeared, through a tiny hole in the wall, into the adjoining room. Gasping, I ran out of my room, and my eyes fixed on a name-plate. The name-plate was on the door of the adjoining room. The inscription read "Dr. F.K. Flinkenstein".
All my delusions were falling away... I was now seeing the world aright (no doubt, as a result of your ministrations over the years).
And the terrible truth struck me... My friend didn't collect testicles. He, himself, was a mound of sheep testes... an exhibit in the Gonad museum. Over the years of creeping delusion, I had anthropomorphised one particular exhibit at that museum until it seemed to me to be an old friend. I imagined that pile of gonads to be a fine and admirable collector of sheep testes, and constructed an elaborate back-story detailing our shared history... the day we met in the crutching yards, the beers together at the local, and so on...
When I told you that my delusional friend was in danger of dying, you collected the mound of testes from the museum, put them in a cardboard box, called me on the baked-bean-o-phone, while impersonating a policeman with a thick Slavic accent, and informed me that my dear friend had died. You then arranged a sham of a funeral, and secretly celebrated. For you knew that there was deep psychological significance in my coming to believe that my friend would die. The real death was the death of my delusionality.
I would like to thank you, dear doctor, for all that you have done for me, and for all that you will do for me as I continue towards recovery. I hope that I will continue to make good progress over the coming years, and will be fit to leave the ward some time prior to 2015.
Your most grateful patient,
hognogger
Dr Flinkey:
See, I told you it was obvious.
posted by hognogger at 9:06 p.m.
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