Teen Spirit

A mother, a very devout and religous mother, was in tears. Her once perfect child, now a teenager, had made the bathroom his office. Several hours of his day he spent in the bathroom practicing the old sport of wrist strengthening. She was desperate.

She told him about eternal damnation. Of hairs growing from the palms of his hands. Of his hands turning yellow. he could even grow a tail, for all she knew. Just like those characters in "One Hundred Years of Solitude," Gabriel García Marquéz's masterpiece.

She could not allow her pumpkin to be lost forever. Begrudgingly, for she didn't believe in psychiatry, she dragged little Sean to a psychiatrist. Upon their arrival, Doctor Freudstein gave both of them a benign smile, a quote of how much his 45-minute hour cost, asked her to come in first and told Sean to wait in the waiting room. Sean shrugged his stooped shoulders, sat down and stared onto the ceiling.

Mom continued sobbing as she entered the doctor's office. He asked her if she wouldn't lie down, but after getting a dirty look from this hard-core religous woman, he offered her a seat.

To no avail, Doctor Freudstein explained in all ways possible, using teaching techniques ranging from K to 12th grade, how natural masturbation was. "Heck! Even married men and women masturbate," he added. Mom's sobbing grew even louder. The doctor decided to let go of her and see the young man.

"Sean, you may come in. Ma'am, you may wait outside. Thank you, 200 dollars, check is fine." Doctor Freudstein beckoned Sean to take a seat. Sean had to remove the pods of his ears, his iPod blaring Strokes +1 type music. "Sean, I will show you some pictures. Tell me what they make you think of, okay, son?"

Sean looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, acquiescing. The word picture made him grow curious now. Doctor Freudstein had a vast collection of pictures and drawing from his latest trip to Rio de Janeiro. He had given up on using the Rorschach test since school districts had started using them for whatever mysterious reasons school districts across the country are bent on spending money and time testing kids.

The lights darkened. He showed his first slide to Sean. A drawing he himself had made of the Sugar Loaf. "So, Sean, what do you see?"

"I see two semi-circles, a higher one and a flatter one. Breasts. Breast, women, women, wank."



The doctor sighed and showed yet another slide, this time of the mountains in Leblon. "And, now, Sean?"



"This is so easy," said Sean, growing more confident by the minute. "I see two mountains. They look like bent legs, showing just the thighs. Smooth thighs, women, women, wank."

Doctor Freudstein sighed deeply. "And now?"

Sean couldn't sit still anymore. "An empty beach. Soon there'll be women, lots of good-loooking women. Women, wank."



Doctor Freudstein was at his wit's end. "This is the last one. What do you see, Sean?"



"A rock going into the ocean. It's hard and it's long. Hard and long, my member, my member, women, women, wank." Sean was radiant. The doctor was irate. Doctor Freudstein storms towards the door, opens it and finds his bombonière completely empty.

"Who ate all my caramel candies?"

"I did. I was bored, there was nothing to do," Sean shrugged his shoulder as he placed his pods back into his ears, this time to the sound of Andrew Card.

"You little wanker! Why didn't you go home and jerk off?!!!!" Yelled the doctor at the top of his lungs. He can barely hear Sean ask.

"Could you give me those dirty pictures you showed me?"

Adapted from traditional jokes. At this point, what would you prefer to find in the Oval Office? Sperm stain on the carpet or an elephant in the closet?

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