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 Category:  General Fiction
  Posted: August 10, 2020      Views: 8

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 ABOUT
THE REVEREND DR GONZO 
Way back in 2005 I was given advice by someone here to write it all. And so, I've been away for a while, writing and editing for other individuals and organizations.
But it's all been so *blah*, grinding out 6,500 words a week since 2007 - more...

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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
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A conversation between a man and his therapist
"Todd" by The Reverend Dr Gonzo

"So, I say to the guy, 'Not being retarded.'" And with that, Todd started laughing uncontrollably.
"That's great, Todd, but I do have to remind you that we're on the clock," said Dr. Bagg, famed psychiatrist and all-around asshole. "Also, please don't use the "R word" anymore, it's horribly offensive. We should get back to what we ended on last week. I believe you were talking about your school year and how it was affecting your current situation."
"Yeah, yeah. I remember. I'm back on track now. Not like that junkie Marisol, though. She's back on the wrong track."
"Focus, Todd, focus on school," replied Dr. Bagg.
"Hey, who's paying for this fucking session? You? No, I don't think so. Let me be."
"Todd, if I let you be, you'd be back in jail."
"Right. Sorry. OK, anyway. Like I said last week. I'm still not sure if that fucking creative writing class was a good idea," said Todd.
"Why not?"
"Because they're all goofy in that class. And by goofy I mean not right... in the heads."
"Why is that?"
"Because."
"You have to go into it farther than 'because.' I can't help you if you don't help me."
"Fine, fine. All right I think, no, I believe, that they're all illegit."
"What do mean, are you saying that they are criminal types?"
"No, no, no. Well, maybe some of them. We'll get to that. I'll just start on my side of the room and go around the circle we sit in every day," said Todd.
"First, to my right," he continued, "is Seth. Keep in mind that everyone SEEMS normal, but these people should all be coming here instead of me. Anyway, Seth is a real quiet type. I don't know if he doesn't want to talk because he doesn't have much to say or it it's for fear of saying something he'll regret. Definitely not the type to become a motivational speaker. Hell, maybe he's the best type to become one of them. Let's just hope he doesn't end up in a van down by the river."
"Next in line is Emily. She seems like an all-American sweetheart at first, but let me tell you something," Todd said while pointing his sausage link finger at the doctor. "I've seen her on a street corner in, let's just say, provocative garb, and most likely it was something she wouldn't write home to mom about."
"Well, do you have any proof of her doing wrong?" inquired Dr. Bagg.
"The proof is in the eyes," Todd said with a menacing look on his face. "Eyes tell the story, and my brain is good enough to fill in the details. Next in line comes Jennifer. Probably good at writing, if she ever put anything into the class for feedback."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, she looks like she has stories. She seems to me to be the type with a boyfriend in prison for burglary. Which is fine. I once wanted to grow up to be a bank robber. Now I just work at a convenience store. But I'm getting off the point.
"Next in the circle is Crystal. She's one of those OTA's. 'Outta the Anarchy' or something I think it means."
"Todd, OTA means Older Than Average. It's a term for people who come back to college after a long break."
"Yeah, whatever. You think what you like, I'll think what I like. Anyway, she's a real quiet type too, but different than Seth. It seems like she thinks either her opinion is too good for us, or that it's too damn crazy for us. A real schizoid narcissistic attitude."
"To her right is Greg. He's another one of them OTA's, except he's one of those people whose opinions won't stay in. I've seen that dude at the bars and let me tell you something. He's like a medieval drunkard lost in the future. With the amount that fool drinks, he could bankroll the fucking Yankees. GO BOSTON!"
"Now Todd, remember when you drank an 18 pack almost every night?" asked the doctor.
"Yeah, I know. Those were the days. Booze, gambling, women, and no memory or any of it. You better not be challenging me to a drink-off against that guy, because my liver can't take much more."
"To Greg's right is a real whopper named Darin. The first of the crazy D's. I overheard Darin talking one day about kicking bums and retards. That stuff is way out there. And he's lived in Seattle too, or somewhere else up in GrungeVille. Who knows what that crazy bastard did to those homeless folks up there. Probably the one who started that crap called BumFights. A real malignant tumor right smack dab in the middle of society's face."
"After Darin comes the other crazy D, Donavan. As dear old dad would most likely say, 'He's crazy as a shit house rat.' And by crazy I mean with guns... and a hatred for popcorn. I don't think he'd hurt anybody, unless they put popcorn on him, but those gun stories are getting wacky. I would place 50 dollars right now on him being a sleeper cell in some local militia, put in place at the college to recruit more of that type. You know, there are plenty up there."
Todd stopped to take a drink of water, and Dr. Bagg took the opportunity to ask him, "Do you really believe that your classmates lead these secret lives?"
"Sure, why not? Prove me wrong, fucker. Anyway," said Todd with a disgusted look on his face, "back to me. Next in line is Austin, a cornerstone for my case of all English majors being completely shit-crazy. He always talks of this 'crazy lady' who comes in and orders the same thing at his workplace. It's usually entertaining, but, Jesus, we get it; she orders the same thing every day. I wouldn't doubt if he changes up her order every couple of days, you know, putting salt on one thing and not the other just to mess with that old lady's head. I also wouldn't doubt if he went to her house and knocked on her door and then ran away."
"After him comes Chris, a real wise ass. Yeah, we know dumbass, you can write first person narratives about crazy people. Not like you can do it well. And pickled eggs? WHAT the FUCK! You know I saw him at the bar one night playing blackjack. What a fucking animal. He bought a pitcher of beer and didn't even use a glass. I saw him later that night and he was actually crawling out of the bar. The bouncers gave him a voucher, but he couldn't talk, so he couldn't call the taxi. They had to physically pick him up and throw him into the back of Sleazy Cab. They didn't do it nice, either. The next night he was out doing it again."
"After Chris is Dr. Kawecki. I've got a theory about her. She's a good enough teacher, but she was gone one day, and I figured it out. It's so complex it's simple. She's a mercenary of authors. It goes like this: She figures out which author is almost ready to put out a new manuscript, visits them, slips a bit of poison in their drink, lets her army of non-hypoallergenic cats out of their starvation chamber to finish what's left of the corpse, and BAM! walks away with a new book. Genius really. If I were evil, I would totally do that too. Except with an army of ten-foot-tall midgets riding attack dogs."
"Back on my side of the room, next to Kawecki, is Phil. Another English major type person. Actually, a closet heroin addict, or at least some other pain killer fiend. Morphine, oxycontin, hydrocodone, you name it and this dude has probably done it. He even came into class one day high as a fucking kite, claiming that he had just gotten his wisdom teeth out. Sure, Phil, wisdom teeth, gotcha. He also said that he likes being in the great outdoors, and that makes even better sense. You know that junkies like finding secluded areas to get stupid, don't you? Probably goes down to the desert, back in the woods about two miles, and tries to catch that damn dragon all the kids are talking about."
"To Phil's right is Chris G. Some type of aspiring standup comic or some shit. He needs to do some more aspiring. Although it is weird, I think I saw him downtown hanging out with the 4th street crew, you know, a bunch of high schoolers and shit. Had a good story early on about some band arguing. It was all right. That class needs more stories, or laughs, it's so damn boring every time I go in there.
"Well have you given any stories to the class?" Dr. Bagg asked.
"Not yet. I figure I'll wait until the last week of class, and then tell Kawecki that my roommate got drunk and burned the house down. I got no problem lying to get out of an assignment."
"You're a real bastard, Todd."
"Hey, I'll get your opinion at the end of the session asshole. I've got five minutes left. After Chris G. is Jesse. You want to talk about possible felons. That dude looks like the devil. Which leads me to believe that he sells crack. Maybe even selling junk to Phil. Who knows, maybe even Emily. That could be who she was waiting for on the street corner. I don't want to ask him though. Those types can get ugly if they know that you know, you know. I don't like drugs anyway. I'm a fan of pure oxygen. You wanna fly on some good shit and still be legal and healthy? Oxygen."
"Two minutes left, Todd."
"Okay okay. The last person in the circle is Nick, to my immediate left. Didn't seem at first like the person to be in a writing class. Most likely in it to impress a chick or something, which is admirable in its own ridiculous way. Anyway, this is the type of clown that probably goes out to play flag football and get stupid, and then comes home and wallows in smelly candle luxury. Real oddball, but then that's what the Fargo "new medicine" studies go for. They deny me every time I go in there. Fuckers.
"Well, you are a convicted felon with three unidentifiable VDs."
"That doesn't mean I don't need a little extra cash now and then. Well, that's it for the class. Now that I got that off my chest, I can start talking about my work. First off--"
"Times up, Todd," said Dr. Bagg. "We'll have to continue this next week. Oh, and since you wanted me to hold my opinion until the end of the session, here it is."
Todd turned around after he walked out the door, "Yeah?"
"You're an idiot, and likely the worst judge of character I've ever met. Same time next week?"
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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