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 visit."
"I'll sleep
on it," said Shakey.
Six months later the doctor met Shakey on the
street. "Why didn't you ever
come to see me again?" asked the
psychiatrist.
"For a hundred buck's a visit? A bartender cured me for
ten dollars."
"Is that so! How?"
"He told me to cut the legs off
the bed!"
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