Psychiatrist: Geesh, 8 a.m. Wednesday and there’s already someone lying on my couch. Must have slipped in with the janitor this morning. What can I do for you, sir?
Patient: Sorry I came in without an appointment doc, but I’m desperate. Suddenly I’ve lost all my friends, it’s as if nobody in the world cares about me any more.
Psychiatrist: You mean you’ve lost a number of friends over the past few months or years? Yes, that can be troubling.
Patient: No, I lost them all yesterday. Suddenly the phone quit ringing. Suddenly my mailbox was empty. What happened to Patty and George, Mary Margaret and April, Nancy and Chris, not to mention my best-of-all friends, George and John? I haven’t heard from them in 24-hours now, and I’m worried.
Psychiatrist: And they all just went away, on the same day?
Patient: Yes, disappeared. George and John or their designees have been calling me almost nightly for what seems like a year, asking for my support. It seems that they both like me, but they don’t like each other much. I think they depend on me to settle their differences. In fact, most of my friends can’t get along but they all like me just fine. Makes me feel like Gandhi or Jay Leno or something. They send me so many love letters that my mailbox can’t hold them all.
Psychiatrist: These friends of yours, have you actually met them, or do you just communicate by telephone and mail? And what do you talk about?
Patient: Well, we’ve never actually met, but I see a lot of them on TV all the time, so they’re real friends, just like Oprah. I’m hoping they deliver like Oprah, because she somehow left me out of her Pontiac giveaway.
Psychiatrist: What are you expecting from these friends, a fancy car?
Patient: No, better than that. They’re offering things like free health care, better roads, balanced budgets, improved education, better military, and nicer parks.
Psychiatrist: Sounds great, but probably more expensive in the long run than one of Oprah’s Pontiacs. How do they expect you to pay for all these items?
Patient: That’s the best part, they’re giving me all this while cutting my taxes! Why, Oprah’s friends even had to pay taxes on the Pontiacs. Ticked some of them off, too. Never look a gift Pontiac in the mouth, I say.
Psychiatrist: I’m beginning to suspect these friends may be too good to be real. Tell me, as a child, did you ever have an imaginary friend?
Patient: Yes, his name was Ralph. But all we did was play and eat lunch together. Ralph was a piker compared to George and John and the rest.
Psychiatrist: Well, I think you’ve relapsed, and now Ralph has manifested himself into a multitude of friends who will offer you anything and not make you pay for any of it. In short, it’s time for the funny farm.
Patient: You think I’m nuts just for believing in my friends? Hey, why are those two guys in uniforms carrying that stiff jacket? Hey, wait! I can’t move!
Psychiatrist: Be gentle with him, orderlies. We have an influx of these delusional patients the day after every election. All they need is bed rest and a few days without calls and mail from political candidates, then they can survive quite well without their imaginary friends. Until the next election, of course.
