The mental cure….
Shakey went to a psychiatrist. “Doc,” he said, “I’ve got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I think there’s somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there’s somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under! You gotta help me, I’m going crazy!” “Just put yourself in my hands for two years,” said the shrink. “Come to me three times a week, and I’ll cure your fears.” “How much do you charge?” “A hundred dollars per…


