I was walking home from school today with my friend 'Vegan', when she told me something funny about Spiderbite. I mean, I already knew Spiderbite was a funny place, because it's logo is a spider. The word 'spider' is in the name, people; do you retards need a visual aid for every cognitive exercise?
Vegan says something to the effect of,'I'm not going to Spider bite anymore. I don't trust them.'
So I bite, and I ask, 'Why's that?'
She says, 'Because my therapist was talking about this client she has who works their, and apparently all they do is smoke pot all day.'
Whoa, whoa, back this gravy train up, sister. You have a therapist? Bitch, we're through here. I've always hated you, but this just takes the cake. Now gimme a pair of your underwear and I'll be on my way.
Therapists are to retards what wheelchairs are to the Jerry's Kids retards. Got a problem, motherfucker? Tell it to my friend from Rome, Fisticus. In fact, why don't you give him a kiss, woman?
Therapists cannot be trusted, as can be seen in the quote above. All they do is talk about their shitty patients. Their supposed to fucking listen, but all they do is babble. Why am I an alcoholic? I don't know. Am I gay? I don't know, asshole. No, I don't have problems with my Mom. Do not put her on speaker phone. Am I really paying forty dollars an hour for this bullshit? If I wanted this, I'd marry a woman and get it for free every day.
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