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Tick. Tock. The time was passing by so slowly.

  • Tick. Tock. The time was passing by so slowly. I glared at the clock and willed it to go faster. Nothing happened of course. I tried to pay attention to the droning of the teacher'
  • 'Wah-wah-wah" Good grief, this class is taking forever. I fold up my security blanket and use it as a pillow. Poor Charlie. He's having PTSD from Lucy's punt-feints.
  • I wonder if Lucie understands the connection between her desire to be a psychologist and her desire to consistently punish Charlie for his unflagging trust.
  • What Lucy really understood that if she could keep passive-aggressively controlling Charlie Brown with her mind games, he would keep paying her 5 cents for therapy. You see, Lucy
  • had caught onto the "don't cure the patient, give him the right bait, let'm bite, play'em out for years, & you're in the gravy" trick some psychoanalysts play. "Chuck, the football
  • is just an analogy. See?" Chuck narrowed his eyes. "For what?" The psychoanalyst swallowed. This one was smarter than most. He stood and looked at his certificate. "Let's talk
  • about your payment plan. I can't accept roubles any more." Chuck was shocked. "But I only ever pay psychoanalysts in roubles. It's a silly superstition I have." The analyst gritted
  • his teeth, then opened a mickey of vodka which he drank in one gulp. The shrink loved the motherland. "In Russia, vodka finishes you!" he yelled, flinging the bottle at Chuck's hea
  • d. "This is not true Wodka. I have been to your Milwaukee, W. I., where supposed Russian mafia sells this crap made from distilled pig's liver. In Russia, we use potatoes...
  • potatoes and propane. You must not let the propane explode on the highway, but that is how we do things in Russia: Ham-fistedly."

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