Some people hate games. You know? They’re real spoilsports. Like the other day, I said to my friend, “Hey, let’s play a fun game: I’ll tell you about these crazy dreams I had, and then you interpret them and tell me what they say about me as a person.”
So my lame friend was all like, “But…that’s…that’s not a game, it’s…well, Porter, I’m your therapist: that’s my job.”
Ugh, can’t you just cut loose and have fun once in a while, Dr. Jeffers? I mean, does he always have to talk about his stupid job? Yes, he’s a doctor: I’m impressed, OK? Can we move on?
And also, he’s, like, the only friend I have who charges me $100/hour to talk to him. That’s ridiculous. I have plenty of great friends who don’t charge me for their time, you know.
I don’t even know why I keep him around.
Ah, I guess it’s just because he’s such a good listener.
And he’s always stood by me in tough times.
And because our friendship is covered by my medical insurance.