Psychology is for Psychos

Streaky

Ever taken a psychology class?  I took one as a night class at a community college years ago.    The professor was some gentle ex-hippie with a gray beard.   I had developed an extreme dislike for him, simply because I had seen him talking to my girlfriend on campus.  She had taken his class a semester before so they were friendly.

One week during class, he asked each student  to take sample Rorschach tests.  I decided to play with him a b little. Whatever ink blot they’d show me, I’d see something violent or bloody.  The only one I really remember was “Two nuns kneeling down with their heads chopped off lying in baskets next to them.”  If you’re even halfway creative you can come up with a hundred such concepts when you look at an inkblot.  You’re supposed to tell them the first image that comes to mind, but if you have it in your head that it’s going to be something shocking, it will be.  It’s a blot, it can be anything.  Some girl in the class made a comment and I told her “Hey, don’t forget you’ve got to walk out in that same parking lot with me after class.”   I was joking of course,  but I can imagine if this happened today, I’m pretty sure you’d be arrested or at least thrown out of class for something like that.  The professor did nothing.  

Another time I “caught” my girlfriend talking to the professor and smoking a cigarette.  I was on her case for smoking so I basically just grabbed the smoke from her and put it out in my hand for show.  Then I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the professor.   Still no reaction out of the guy.

Then girls started disappearing from class.  There were two classes a week on Tuesday and Thursday.  After each class I began kidnapping a different girl and locking them down in my parents basement.  I had build makeshift cages out of pvc pipe and for fun would sometimes make the girls fight each other for food giraffe style.  They could only hit each other on the neck using their necks.

I even butchered my girlfriend and left a trail of pieces of her from the front door of his house, to where he parks his car to try to get him arrested but nobody even noticed it. 

I tried to make a confession to the professor of my Comparative Religions class, but he insisted he wasn’t a priest.  I told him anyway.  He suggested I transfer out of the psychology class.

I switched out just in time.  That professor got arrested for all the girls he killed.  I ended up in a Children’s Literature class.  My parents kicked me out of the house and I ended up renting a room above a bar.   After a few more weeks I gave up on school and decided to try to make my way up the ladder at work.  I already had a lucrative career collecting carts at the A&P and managed to get promoted to cleaning up the bathrooms and pickle spills.  I’m thinking within the next couple years I can move up to cashier and by the time I’m 50 or 55, I might make front end manager. 

Now that I think about it, that professor really did me a favor.  He should be getting out in a few.  I keep saying I should go see him.  I feel sort of bad that my ideas manipulated him into killing all those girls.  I was only telling him what I saw.  Maybe I can get him a job at the store.  I think he’d be good at it.  He was a real gentle hippie.  I think he’d be good in the Produce dept, or maybe Dairy.  Those are the gentlest departments.

Only the Moon Watched
The Fruit is a Trap