The Curious Friendship Of Otto And Clyde: Session 2
Clyde: I’m marvelous. Simply marvelous. But my god, man, what on earth has happened to your face?!
Otto: That’s what I wanted to talk with you about, doc. Maybe we can begin our session?
Clyde: But of course. If you’ll have a seat on the couch, we shall indeed begin.
Otto: Ok, doc… The other night, after work, I was tripping acid with the bearded lady and her boyfriend. Boyfriends. They’re Siamese twins. Anyway, the four of us were sitting with a bunch of candles in the house of mirrors, which is like a fun house except it isn’t fun and there are mirrors everywhere. Mirrors that make you look short and tall and and skinny and fat and cone-headed. There’s even a mirror that makes you look like a giant snake, which is the one we were staring into. And doc, let me tell you. Staring at the giant-snake-shaped reflection of Siamese twins in flickering candlelight is almost too weird to handle sober. But toss fifteen hits of LSD and a bearded lady into the mix and those reflections can really start to melt your brain, especially if the bearded lady suddenly decides to give the twins a blowjob while they hum circus music. Which is exactly what happened…
Clyde: Your mother should have boiled you at birth, you infinitesimal speck of cosmic cow shit. This wine is simply exquisite, by the way. Please continue…
Otto: Well, Dr. Clyde, at that point I think I lost my mind because I sprinted to the nearest concession tent and stuffed myself inside a cotton candy machine. It was a tight squeeze, and after a few minutes I realized I was stuck. It was pitch black in there, doc, and the smell of spun sugar was sickeningly sweet, so I just closed my eyes and prayed that I wouldn’t run out of air.
Clyde: Which in no way, shape, form, or fashion explains the state of your hideous face. I hate you.
Otto: I was getting to that, doctor. Six hours later, the dwarf who runs the concession stand showed up to turn on the machine. I was too exhausted to scream, and he was too short to see me. He flipped the switch and my head was yanked into the gears and pulleys, which kind of twisted my neck all the way around and then smashed my face into the glass for an hour, until the motor died. It took them an entire day to get me out of that thing…
Clyde: I see. So you’d like me to dissect you to the extent that I’ll shed light on the driving forces behind the foolish choices which led you to suffer extreme trauma at the hands of a cotton candy machine, so you might then make various lifestyle changes to lessen the odds of suffering another such undesirable episode, thereby laying the groundwork for a more enjoyable, less chaotic existence?
Otto: That would be absolutely wonderful, Dr. Clyde.
Clyde: Piss off. I detected the heinous aroma of Canadian bacon on your purely malodorous breath, the moment you entered this office. Have it on a pizza pie, did you? Along with bits of pineapple? You deplorable specimen of a wretched human being. You forget that we pigs are blessed with a superior sense of smell. Couple that with my preternatural intellect and fine taste in French wine, and I might as well rule the world. Where was I? Ah, yes, the baneful cotton candy machine and your fragile little psyche. Fuck you. Your time is up.
Otto: Wow, doc, I feel so much better. Would you be kind enough to join me for another drink?