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This factory-worker goes to visit a psychiatrist.
"Doc, I have this terrible obsession! I work in a pickling plant, I screw the lids on the pickle-jars. It's a great job, good benefits, good hours, strong union. But for the last couple of months, every day at work, I get this overwhelming urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer."
The psychiatrist diagnosed the man with self-destructive sexual trauma triggered by professional boredom and began a course of therapy with him. But after six months, the man admitted:
"This has been great, Doc, I've worked through all of my mother issues and I don't hate my father anymore and I feel really whole. But I still have the same problem I came in with: every single day, have this terrible urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer!"
So the shrink steps up their program, they try hypnotherapy, medications, past-life regression, even proxy rebirth and drum-circles. But to no avail.
"I can't sleep at night, I can't concentrate at work, it's horrible! The urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer gets worse and worse every day!"
The psychiatrist is really worried, and spends the whole week doing research and phoning colleagues, trying to find a clue of how to help this poor man. But at the next session:
"Doc, I feel great! I finally just went ahead and did it! Right in the middle of my shift yesterday, I just dropped trou and put my dick in the pickle-slicer, and I feel so much better."
"Oh my god, what happened?" the psychiatrist asked, aghast at this tale of self-mutilation.
"I got fired," the man said simply, still grinning.
"But what happened with the pickle-slicer?"
"Oh, he got fired, too."
"Doc, I have this terrible obsession! I work in a pickling plant, I screw the lids on the pickle-jars. It's a great job, good benefits, good hours, strong union. But for the last couple of months, every day at work, I get this overwhelming urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer."
The psychiatrist diagnosed the man with self-destructive sexual trauma triggered by professional boredom and began a course of therapy with him. But after six months, the man admitted:
"This has been great, Doc, I've worked through all of my mother issues and I don't hate my father anymore and I feel really whole. But I still have the same problem I came in with: every single day, have this terrible urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer!"
So the shrink steps up their program, they try hypnotherapy, medications, past-life regression, even proxy rebirth and drum-circles. But to no avail.
"I can't sleep at night, I can't concentrate at work, it's horrible! The urge to put my dick in the pickle-slicer gets worse and worse every day!"
The psychiatrist is really worried, and spends the whole week doing research and phoning colleagues, trying to find a clue of how to help this poor man. But at the next session:
"Doc, I feel great! I finally just went ahead and did it! Right in the middle of my shift yesterday, I just dropped trou and put my dick in the pickle-slicer, and I feel so much better."
"Oh my god, what happened?" the psychiatrist asked, aghast at this tale of self-mutilation.
"I got fired," the man said simply, still grinning.
"But what happened with the pickle-slicer?"
"Oh, he got fired, too."



