Monday, April 18, 2011

Bonnywood Archives: Dr. Brian - Case Study #12

  Note: Originally posted on "Idiot Fondue"...

Dear Brian

Does Joes Crab Shack put "Stolen From Joes Crab Shack" on the crab tools because they want customers to steal them and then do advertising, or NOT steal them?

submitted by Breakfast at Tiffanys

Dear Breakfast,

First, why do you insist on not using apostrophes in your submissions? What has the apostrophe ever done to YOU to deserve such neglect? Was there an incident in grammar school? Did you watch some idiotic horror film wherein a crazed apostrophe captured townspeople and killed them with dangling participles? Perhaps we should investigate this further in another session.

Second, please refrain from spilling hot melted butter on your letters. It’s filthy and rude.

Now, to the matter at hand. On the surface, the answer to your query is quite simple. You do not take things that don’t belong to you. I don’t care what words may be printed on the object, if you did not pay for it, then you leave it alone and select something from the menu that you CAN pay for.

Did your mother not mention this to you at least once or twice during what I now presume to have been a very troubled childhood? Or was your mother right there with you at this shack thing of Joe’s, pawing the utensils as well and shifting things around in her clutch to make room for contraband? Does your family tree include the names Bonnie and/or Clyde?

And really, the more I study your submission, the more concerned I’m becoming about your true mental state, especially when it concerns thievery and deception. The letter is written in purple crayon, which is not unusual considering the nature of my clientele. But this has been written with a BROKEN crayon. And there’s a stain in the lower left corner that came from the tear ducts of a 5-year-old.

You stole this crayon, didn’t you! Snatched it from the hand of the innocent toddler at the table on your left. Judging by the stress fractures on the crayon, it seems the brave little toaster held on for quite some time before the thing finally snapped, sending the angel tumbling backwards until she whacked her head on one of the insipid pieces of memorabilia they have nailed to the walls in those places.

The restaurant manager actually had to make those irritating waiters stop line dancing to “Car Wash” long enough to attend to the sobbing child, slapping a Hello Kitty band-aid on her noggin and racing her to the nearest emergency room, bouncing around in the back of a fish truck.

Poor thing even lost the remaining half of the now-melting crayon, her grip faltering when they hit a rather nasty speed bump whilst roaring out of the parking lot. The poor little damaged crayon sailed out the window into the dark and evil night. Plink.

And you just sat there at your table, whining because your next margarita hadn’t arrived yet, asking the manager to turn the music up because some urchin was crying, and wondering if the mussels were fresh.

You are cold, indeed.

And you cannot blame your mother for this horrendous action of yours. Even if the suspicions about her concerning criminal activity are proven true, she grew up in a different time and place and would never have acted in the aggressive manner that you did.

Given the same situation, she would befriend the child first, compliment the little darling’s dress, and then, when impish Emma was distracted by the amazing choreography of the Crab Shack Rockettes, your mother would discreetly tuck the crayon into her bosom, say a few polite words of farewell, and then graciously slip away.

Of course, the child would still eventually discover the theft, but it would be hours later, and the parents would ignore Emma’s security concerns and assume that the child had simply done something stupid with the damn crayon. If Emma persists in her pronouncements about the lady with the big boobies snatching her writing tools, she would be strongly encouraged to go to bed early and think about her lies.

An unjust resolution, to be fair, but far more agreeable than your savage actions, snarling and ripping the crayon out of her weak little hand, and then hurling Shirley Temple across the restaurant, followed by a noisy and uncomfortable ride in a delivery wagon that smelled like cat treats and unwashed old people.

And we have a final matter to address with your submission. It appears that you have scribbled your correspondence on Joe’s Crab Shack stationery. (I’m amazed that they even have such a thing. I just assumed that, in a facility wherein talent-deprived individuals perform line dances and get very excited about the birthday of a complete stranger, there would be little evidence of the capability to read and write. Then again, they let YOU in the door, so all bets are off with such an establishment.)

At the top of this parchment, you have replaced JOE’S with TIFFANY’S, resulting in the phrase “Tiffany’s Crab Shack”. Now, a greener therapist than myself would diagnose this as a subconscious admission that you have a certain bodily condition that requires a visit to the “special section” of your local Walgreen’s. And this would be a fine analysis with most patients.

In your case, however, it actually reveals the true root of your neurosis. You couldn’t care less WHY Joe puts the little message on his crab crackers. Your dissatisfaction lies with the fact that he used HIS name instead of YOURS. It’s a classic case of delusional grandeur.

You want people to see your name everywhere, preferably in lights, with sparkly letters. And you don’t care what the item is, as long as your name is on it.

This is how Hitler started.

To be fair, there are other deranged neurotics like you running around out there. This is why we see Roto-Rooters becoming Roberto-Rooters and Porta-Potties becoming Portia-Potties. But you have gone beyond the normal dementia, now that you have bitch-slapped a child and then calmly ordered another round.

Speaking of which, I’m late for my next appointment. Emma is here to discuss her fear of seafood-themed restaurants and the color purple.

Please see Lanae at the front desk to arrange for another session.

With Irritation,
Dr. Brian

P.S. And for gawd’s sake, learn how to use an apostrophe!

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