So a moth goes into a podiatrists office.
So a moth goes into a podiatrists office.
"Come in," says the podiatrist, "What's the problem?"
The moth drops down into the nearest chair. The podiatrist says "What's the problem?
The moth says, “I don't even know where to start. First of all, my boss is a vicious tyrant who gets off on the petty torments he puts me through day in and day out, and I'm too spineless to stand up to him, so I just take it and I've gradually come to hate myself for it. Also, every morning I wake up to the same prune-face old crone to whom I pledged my vows so many years ago. I used to love her, but that love has become like some sun-festering beached whale trying to die. We lost our daughter last year to one of the bitterest, coldest winters we've ever had to face in this region. Isn't it funny, doc, how all the prayer circles and charity drives in the world amount to pretty much nothing in the face of that cold, impartial face of winter, that bleak, pounding, harsh fist of a callous environment, carrying on with its machinations without regard to our lives, loves, hopes and dreams? Isn't that hysterical, Doc? “
“And my other boy, and this is the hardest pill to swallow, doc, my other boy I no longer love him. As much as it pains me to say, when I look in his eyes all I see is the same cowardice that I catch when I take a glimpse of my own face in the mirror. If only the cowardice was stronger, then perhaps I could bring myself to reach over to that cocked and loaded gun that lays on the bedside behind me and end this hellish facade once and for all. “
“Believe me, Doc, I'd be doing the world a favor. I have nothing to look forward to but a continuation of this spiraling black hole that is my life, this existential cesspool that is the perpetuation of my lingering skid-mark on society. I despise people yet I crave their approval. I'm judgmental yet I care about nothing. I'm bitter, hateful and afraid. I'm alive yet I feel like the walking dead. This is it, Doc: I am a living, breathing, disease."
“Doc, sometimes I feel like a spider, even though I’m a moth, just barely hanging onto my web of everlasting fire underneath me. I’m not feeling good.”
The doctor stares at him for a while then finally says "Jeez, Moth, you definitely have some problems. But I'm a podiatrist. You need a psychiatrist. Why'd you come in here?"
The moth says, “Well, your light was on."
"Come in," says the podiatrist, "What's the problem?"
The moth drops down into the nearest chair. The podiatrist says "What's the problem?
The moth says, “I don't even know where to start. First of all, my boss is a vicious tyrant who gets off on the petty torments he puts me through day in and day out, and I'm too spineless to stand up to him, so I just take it and I've gradually come to hate myself for it. Also, every morning I wake up to the same prune-face old crone to whom I pledged my vows so many years ago. I used to love her, but that love has become like some sun-festering beached whale trying to die. We lost our daughter last year to one of the bitterest, coldest winters we've ever had to face in this region. Isn't it funny, doc, how all the prayer circles and charity drives in the world amount to pretty much nothing in the face of that cold, impartial face of winter, that bleak, pounding, harsh fist of a callous environment, carrying on with its machinations without regard to our lives, loves, hopes and dreams? Isn't that hysterical, Doc? “
“And my other boy, and this is the hardest pill to swallow, doc, my other boy I no longer love him. As much as it pains me to say, when I look in his eyes all I see is the same cowardice that I catch when I take a glimpse of my own face in the mirror. If only the cowardice was stronger, then perhaps I could bring myself to reach over to that cocked and loaded gun that lays on the bedside behind me and end this hellish facade once and for all. “
“Believe me, Doc, I'd be doing the world a favor. I have nothing to look forward to but a continuation of this spiraling black hole that is my life, this existential cesspool that is the perpetuation of my lingering skid-mark on society. I despise people yet I crave their approval. I'm judgmental yet I care about nothing. I'm bitter, hateful and afraid. I'm alive yet I feel like the walking dead. This is it, Doc: I am a living, breathing, disease."
“Doc, sometimes I feel like a spider, even though I’m a moth, just barely hanging onto my web of everlasting fire underneath me. I’m not feeling good.”
The doctor stares at him for a while then finally says "Jeez, Moth, you definitely have some problems. But I'm a podiatrist. You need a psychiatrist. Why'd you come in here?"
The moth says, “Well, your light was on."
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