|Herr M., one of Jung's patients, completely gone on psychotropic drugs and using Watusi therapy to come to terms with his dual personalities.|
"Listen, mister, you're already walking on thin ice. Count your lucky stars I've haven't thrown you the hell out of this place. Now take the goddamn sardines and get the hell outta my sight."
"Well," Dr. Jeepers consoled me. "Smelts are small fish. Sardines are small fish. I don't see where there's too much difference. Shall we begin the experiment. I'm kind'a in a hurry for those swim flippers."
Now, so many things can go wrong with this type of psychological testing that one must tread lightly, preferably in slippers, and keep a keen eye on the patient's behaviour and an astute ear to their breathing, especially after you knock them over the head to simulate unconsciousness from fainting. Because it's difficult to make someone faint on cue so a little catalyst is needed in the form of a good, blunt instrument, wrapped in a towel to prevent serious head injury or at least any outward bleeding. Only after this can the salted smelts be applied. But if you should falter or hesitate in your application of this technique, even for a minute, the results can be disastrous as the photo below illustrates. In this case, the salted smelts were applied too late and brain tissue issued forth from the nose as a kind of umbilical cord from which bloomed, because of the memories contained in the cellular structure, a type of a human figure that Jung would have termed a "carbuncular puppet of doom." Besides the forlorn and frightening nature of the visage, you try squeezing one of these apparitions out of your nose. In the end it was deemed the figure was a memory simulation of the patient's Aunt Edna, who was still angry at the patient for burning a batch of griddle cakes on the aunt's birthday, causing her husband, Bertrand, to storm out of the house, get in a car accident, losing his left hand and forever impairing his career as a competition small mouth bass fisherman.
"So, how do we go about this?" Dr. Jeepers asked.
"Well, you stand here," I directed him to the middle of the room, "and I'll knock you over the head. Let me prepare the sardines." Once I had laid the little fish out on a plate and liberally salted them with salt packs I had earlier procured from my local fast food chain (iodized salt, by the way, works best while the kosher salt seems lacking in allowing the smelts to fully deliver their reviving power), I looked about the room for something to knock Dr. Jeepers over the head with. I settled on an old mop handle and after giving Dr. Jeepers clear warning so as to prepare himself for unconsciousness, I proceeded to strike him over the head, three, four, five and finally a sixth time before he collapsed to the ground, moaning and his legs twitching slightly as the fainting simulation took control of his mind and body.
"Quickly," I barked into his face. "Tell me your earliest childhood memory and also, have you ever ridden a roller coaster with a tunnel feature and emerged crying uncontrollably and asking for your nanny, your teddy or a gravy separator with a clogged spout? Answer quickly. The regressive threapy will be wearing off in a moment." I'm sad to report Dr. Jeepers was not able to answer any of my questions and in fact, for a good twenty minutes, wasn't even able to speak. When he was finally able to put some words together he muttered only, "I will kill you, Haltiwanger, I will kill you." I took this as a good sign that he was working through some of his more aggressive tendencies and so, there's hope for him yet that he might lead a happy and fulfilling life. Maybe a blow to the head as the one shown below might have had better results, but I must say, the salted sardines did not disappoint and if I had smelts, well then, I have no doubts my experiment would've tested through the roof.
In the end Dr. Jeepers was finally able to stand upon his own two feet without assistance from me. While he was slouched in a chair I took the liberty of placing the promised swim fins upon his feet and took advantage of his grogginess to steer him out the door.
"Always a pleasure, Jeepers," I exclaimed with a hearty clap upon his back. "Watch your step on the stairs now as you have flippers on your feet and, oh yes, don't forget the meerschaum pipe." I stuck it between his chattering teeth and sent him on his way. From my open window I could hear the comforting flip-flop of Jeepers as he tottered down the street and thought, "there by the grace of God and salted smelts goes a man who faced his fears and lived to tell the tale." I did hear him fall into some garbage cans and swear loudly but life's paths are strewn with all sorts of debris and hey, who said psychoanalysis would be easy.