It was one of those Roar Shack tests. You know, the ink blots. You tell the doc what you see, he tells you if you’re sane.
But I can’t take my eyes off the doc’s bow tie. Yellow with blue dots. I read once how a bow tie represents a vagina. At least to the guy wearing it. The more I look at it, the more I have to agree. It’s subtle, though. You know, in the detail, not the main thrust.
“Just sit back, relax,” the old guy tells me. “I’ll show you some pictures. Tell what you see.”
But the more I do, the more agitated he gets. I’m trying to do it right. You know, be good. I really am. It’s that vagina looming behind all those strange pictures. I look at his ink blots and that’s all I can see — VAGINA! VAGINA! VAGINA! So that’s what I tell him.
Before long the old doc’s on the edge of his seat. He’s sweating, red in the face. One hand grips the edge of his chair. The other hand flips ink blots into my lap. But all I can do is tell him what’s flashing in my brain. And you know what that is! And every time I say it, the little guy gets more and more red-faced. He sweats more, grips the chair harder. It’s not long before I start to worry about him. So, finally, I reach over and loosen that tie.
I say: “Hey, doc, you all right?”
“Lu….Lu….Lunatic!” he stutters back. He squeezes it out in a kind of wimper. I can tell he’s tight. “Va….Vagina, my ass! he manages to squeeze out again.
Now he’s breathing heavy. Trembling. But I smile warmly. I see a breakthrough. Coming in, I have him figured for the repressed type. You know: quiet, withdrawn, wife wears the pants. But now I have him expressing himself like a regular guy. I figure I’m good for him. I rest my feet on his desk and pull out a doobie. I light it up, dangle it loosely from one corner of my mouth.
“How things going at home?” I ask him. “Hope you’re getting more than I am.”
He looks up into my eyes real slow, like a dramatic effect in some old movie. Then he sighs, shakes his head and sinks back into his chair.
I reach over and slap his knee. You know, man to man. I offer him a hit off my joint. But he brushes it away with one hand. Then his nurse, Stella, opens the door and says our time’s up. I look at her, wink at the doc. “Now there’s a bow tie,” I say. And the old doc, he just stares up at me wide-eyed. Then his mouth opens. There’s this pause as he gathers his syllables. “G….G….Get out!” he shouts.
“Hey doc,” I say. “Relax. Before I leave, I gotta know if I passed this ROAR SHACK thing.”
“Anything you want,” he whispers, slumped down in his chair. “Just get out.”
I pull on my coat, walk out to Stella’s desk, give her a big smile and say: “Let’s get some lunch, beautiful.” Stella smiles back and whispers: “I’m through for the day.”
And that’s how it ended. My ROAR SHACK test. But I learned my lesson. That’s what counts. No more screaming obscenities, naked, from my balcony. No matter how profound I think I am. All you get is some insane ink blot test from an old guy with a vagina around his neck. And all you can do is think about pussy.