So, the other day-the very day before I ordered my first batch of Generic Viagra-I stopped in to see my psychologist. Yes, I have a psychologist, I admit it. For some reason, I only realized later that, oddly enough, the time I first signed up with him was the same time when I realized I was having problems getting an erection. Coincidence? I think not! Instead of being smart and ordering some Generic Viagra-that is, getting a medical treatment for a simple medical disorder-I decided to be all subtle and psychological. I was sure that it was a mental thing, even a subconscious thing. I didn’t “want” it enough, or, perhaps, I wanted it too much! Maybe I couldn’t “envision” myself with an erection, because I had a self-image problem. Or maybe it was a Freudian thing. Maybe I had repressed memories of walking in on the “primal scene” between my parents, and was suffering insecurity, because I still saw my father as a sexual rival. The things we dream up instead of ordering Generic Viagra! Now, it all seems so foolish. First of all, I was never, never attracted to my mother, Dr. Freud! Dr. Freud can go get probed with a cigar, for all I care. I’m past that stage in my life. I got practical, and ordered Generic Viagra, and never looked back. Now the women in my life recognize me again in the bedroom.

What was the turning point? What made me break down and buy some Generic Viagra over the Internet? How did I break the cycle of self-pity and denial? Well, oddly enough, I had one hell of a good psychologist! Here’s what happened during my final visit, when, out of nowhere, he cured me completely, by prescribing Generic Viagra. I walk in and stretch out on the couch, in front of another man (what was I thinking?!), then waited anxiously for him to probe my sub-consciousness. “You’re deeply disturbed,” he observed immediately. “Oh, yes I am, Dr.!” I admitted, then fell into complete hysterics. “I just can’t get past the shame and the denial, and I feel that I have a messiah complex in the bedroom-I want to save her world, and redeem her, but I’m kept from doing so by my erectile dysfunction; I mean, I’d order some Generic Viagra, but I just think the problem runs a lot deeper than just some medical condition-I think it’s a sort of Napoleon complex-I feel that I’m smaller than other men, because I’m eternally flaccid, and then I try to overcompensate by eating raw oysters and working out, and when that doesn’t work, I feel inferior, and begin hating myself, and scolding my Johnson for his lack of empathy, because I feel that he’s behaving selfishly, and that if I buy him some Generic Viagra, I’ll just be an enabler, because I know he has a problem, but it’s one he just needs to work through himself, without drugs or alcohol, and also, my mother didn’t love me…”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” the good doctor screamed, throwing his notepad to the floor. “Are you freaking crazy? YOU SOUND LIKE A WOMAN!” he howled. He took off his glasses and went on a full tirade. “Let me get this straight: you refuse to order Generic Viagra, because you ‘feel’ that it might be ‘enabling’ for ‘Mr. Johnson’ to treat ‘him’ for a simple medical problem? That’s just crazy talk! Listen to yourself, man! Get a grip! Your mother didn’t love you, and now you have erectile dysfunction? Your running around town eating raw oysters and holding hysterical arguments with your twig and berries in the shower? Go home right now and order some Generic Viagra. I never want to see you again, unless it’s in a bar, somewhere where men gather. I’ll be glad to listen to your sexual success stories over a beer. But I’m not listening to this psychobabble garbage anymore!”

Thank you, Doctor! Thank you!

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