psychology humor

The Earplug Cafe: An Introvert’s Nightmare


Why in a coffee shop am I always sitting next to the people who are talking the loudest? There are at least fifteen introverts in this coffee shop, mostly staring straight ahead but carefully employing side-eye from time to time; however I end up sitting next to all the fucking Chatty Cathy’s, which in this day of gender equality includes one man, granted he’s not saying much.

I’m wearing industrial strength, waxy, swimming earplugs to drown out whatever infernal music is pounding too loudly over the speaker—apparently coffee shops are required by law to play music at annoying decibels; silence or light flute music is a punishable offense, along with mindfulness.  Despite the plugs, I can still hear the sounds of those peoples’ inane conversation, plus their relative happiness. Relative to me. (Relative to the constant state of real happiness that undiscovered species living in a remote rain forest experience).

It all grates on my nerves. Don’t people know I do not go to cafes to relate to humanity? I go to cafes in order to get out of my living room and to remind myself that I’m not at work and that I should be happier. (I practiced smiling before I left the house.)

Finally the people leave. Unlike the Marines however, they left someone behind and I understand why in the next instance. She looks at me. I’m wearing earplugs. I have very short hair. She continues to try to catch my eye. I’m still wearing the earplugs. This is the point where I wish I had eye-plugs, or at least some kind of blinders, you know like a horse. In fact, as soon as this is over, I’m going to the horse store to buy some. Next time I come into the café, I will have earplugs and blinders, so I can only see my screen and what’s right ahead of me.

In fact, I’m going to create some designer Introvert Wear, including matching earplugs in various colors, like fuchsia, because even a blind person could see me wearing fuchsia earplugs. And maybe I will make the ear plugs blink. Evidently highway cone orange earplugs aren’t  bright enough because this woman is still trying to flag me down. I wonder if she’s having some kind of hidden emergency. Looking at my computer monitor, I hold very still, like a frozen bunny with orange earplugs in headlights.

I know she knows I have earplugs. Before her squad left her here, she had looked at me and pointed to my ear before turning back to her three buddies, all seniors, two women and one man, in bike shorts and other two-wheeling regalia. So she knew. Or at least that’s how I interpreted it at the time.

She turns out to not be very observant. Why is she trying to talk to me if it’s obvious I’m wearing earplugs? (Do I need to tattoo a Do Not Disturb sign on my forehead? Shave those words into my hair over my ears? (That would be disturbing!)

I’m a writer on a deadline. People are the last thing I need. This is why I live alone in the fucking desert twenty miles out of town in New Mexico. I know it’s my own fault for being in the café. But even I need a change of pace once in a while.

To assess the situation further, I use side eye, looking, I’m sure, a little bit like an insane thoroughbred. Horses give some crazy-ass side-eye.





She is gesticulating and talking.







“What?” I shout.  “Huh?” I say.  I type some more. “No,” I say responding randomly. Maybe she’ll think I’m talking to the voices in my head.

Now she’s talking louder like I’m deaf. Jesus fucking Christ.

Finally I pull out the left reverse-hearing aid (that’s techno speak in the earplug industry) and step fully into my martyrdom.  “What?”

She says, “Aren’t they sweet?” She’s referring to her missing squad of bicycling friends that left three minutes ago.

I pause. I know what she wants me to say, but I’m done being polite.  I say, “I have no idea. I don’t know them.”

She laughs a little, but looks a bit like a dentist just poked a sore tooth. Her half aborted smile hangs from one side of her face.

I grin widely. Misanthropy is fun.

She says, “Are you from here?”

I say, “I am, but I still don’t know them.”

She says, “I’ve lived here forever; I know lots of people and they are blah and blah and blah….talking about the opera and blah and blah and blah and they are totally nice and weren’t you impressed with their ability to converse and blah and blah and blah, so nice don’t you agree and blah blah fucking blah.”

I’m amazed. Does she not realize that not only do I not know those people, even if she does, I’ve been wearing earplugs and I have no fucking idea what they were all talking about, and if what they were talking about indicated a general niceness rather than some moderately elderly sociopathy? The only thing I was aware of was that one of the 32-speed-biker women was saying things very loudly and I kept wishing she would shut the hell up.

To hell with earplugs: I fucking need ear lids. Lids for the ears. Soundproof ear covers. The world is too goddamn loud. And stupid. I’m busy and it’s distracting. If they had coffee in the library I’d be there instead.

I’m on a deadline writing for a podcast and I have exactly zero ideas because I’m not used to writing only one half of a possible conversation instead of writing the whole thing. How can I possibly be funny spontaneously? I’m a Capricorn. Everything is planned. Even ignoring the plan is planned, a bit of deliberate, non-deliberateness. Purposive spontaneity. Being an introvert I know I can’t necessarily count on my interlocutory brilliance. Comments on demand. I am not that interesting. I am the most boring person I know in fact.

I am worried about podcasting because most human conversations are desultory which is why I usually write fiction. Fictional people are fascinating. Real people are usually boring pains-in-the-ass. I always end up comparing what they are saying with what they could be saying and after a while the conversation usually goes off the rails, as you can imagine. People complain that I don’t listen to them. I do though. I listen very carefully to what they should be saying

The woman has significant pigment discoloration covering both cheeks and I wonder if that’s a side effect of being oblivious of the needs of others around her. If so, maybe the discolored skin will soon cover her entire face and maybe grow upwards over her eyes, making her as physically blind as she is interpersonally.

Undaunted she asks, “What do you do?”

I said, “I’m a comedian.”

She laughs and says, “You’re not really….are you?”

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?” I said.

“I am, aren’t I?” she said wearing that sort of rueful, pained smile that looks like it’s been interrupted by a can opener.

I nod.

I am, of course, lying.

“Where are you performing?”

Right now in this chair. “Here in Santa Fe,” I said. Well it’s not exactly not true.


I dissemble again. I have no performances scheduled because I’m very new at this. I want to be paid to be a Professional Asshole, but not actually harm people, at least not physically. Not in a way that can be traced. There’s no x-ray for damaged cranial esteem. No liability either.

She’s saying, “Who’s that comedian who I don’t like him very much—who’s making a comeback?”

“That could be a lot of people,” I said wanting to ask her if she was aware that I do not live in her mind, know who she knows and why the fuck is she talking to me? What does she want? Is she afraid to be alone? I am not here to save people from themselves. I am here to wreck their lives.

“Jerry Seinfeld,” she said.

Jerry fucking Seinfeld? I was unaware Jerry needed to come back from anything. I nod, thinking I’d read something about him doing stand-up again.

“I used to like his show,” she says, “but the Comedians Having Coffee thing is not funny.”

Right. Like you are the Universal Declarer of All Things Amusing. I guess I’ll call Jerry and tell him to stop making me laugh. Comedians in Cars is funny.

I said, “Well humor is a matter of taste.”

“Whatever happened to Jim Carrey?”

How the fuck should I know?

          She says, “Now he was funny. Where has he been? I love Jim Carrey.”

I sigh. Although she’s obviously been trying very hard, we’re never going to be friends.

“Who do you like?” she asks.

“Louie CK,” I said, letting that land like an iron turd. “Despite his current problems.”

I want to call Louie and say, “Will you get your ass to a therapist, please? Fix your fucking problem with women. I cannot live without more of your hilarity and I don’t want you to be totally destroyed by your own demons. I don’t want this to be the last we see of you. Your films, writing, stand up. How painful must it have been to fall from being on top. Fix it, mother fucker, and come back.”

The woman doesn’t know who he is. I can tell from the fact she didn’t vomit “MeToo” all over me. Apparently I only like comedians and movie stars who abuse women. Al Franken. Kevin Spacey (okay that was dudes). Bill Burr (okay he has not been accused of harming any women, but you can tell he has got some hate going on). But it’s comedy. Everyone has some hate going on. I keep waiting to find out that Stephen Colbert wears diapers and lives in a closet lined with porn when he’s not on stage. I liked Bill Cosby too, who didn’t? But I draw the line with him. Al and Louie at least admitted their behavior and apologized and I can still watch their videos without feeling like I’m condoning Rape-hypnol.

To anyone who was awake for the last ten years, it’s been obvious that Louie has hated himself for a long time. That counts for something. Now we all know why. He just needs to hate himself more effectively and change his behavior. Mere hidden shame just isn’t enough anymore.

To be clear: I am all for the “MeToo” movement. I think men who abuse women should serve time, including Louie. I think they should have to serve time with the woman sitting next to me in fact.

The woman tells me she wants to come see my act. I stare at her unbelievingly this is my act.

          And it’s the only reason I just don’t tell her to get the fuck out of my face with her inanity and insensitivity. Being a mean, sarcastic liar is working! I have a fan!-who is too stupid to figure out that I hate her. Now I’m pissed at all the grown-ups, mainly women, who taught me to be nice to people as if that has ever worked, especially career-wise. I should have been bitingly aggressive and sarcastic from the get-go. Being compassionate and polite has made me so angry and frustrated and such a failure that I wake up with the taste of bile in my mouth every freaking day.

           So I give her a real location, and a fake time and date for my performance. Maybe it won’t be false by the time she gets there.  She then tells me she’s running a greenhouse. That she used to be a nurse. That life is hard, but she’s a survivor. I still want her to shut up.  This is so ironic. She wants to take my name down so she can spread the word because she’s really good with people.

“I can see that,” I say.  I bet you know what people need without them having to say a word.” I check my internal “love for humanity meter” which is hovering on the line between “use your words” and “AK-47.” I don’t have an AK, for reasons which should be painfully obvious, but I’m capable of standing in the middle of the room throwing furniture as if it were bullets. Let’s hope I can jam my earplugs back into my ears before it comes to that.

I forget exactly how she takes her leave. Maybe I melted her into a pile of oblivion with my baleful stare because I needed to get back to writing a podcast. Or maybe I paid Jim Carey to come beat her to death.  Or maybe I sent her out of the cafe to find me more dedicated fans.  I’m choking on the irony, knowing if she loves Jim Carey, she’s going to hate me.  The name of my act is: All My Passcodes Are Swear Words.

The only thing I do remember is thinking this: given the choice between sitting here and talking to Miss Impervious 5000 and talking to poor, perverted but absolutely hilarious Louis CK, I’d pick Louie every time.  He wouldn’t come on to me inappropriately in a café. He’d see I was wearing earplugs.

And as for “MeToo” equality…I can’t wait for the day a bunch of male comedians out me for sexually harassing them. Then we’ll truly all be on equal footing.


And suddenly I know what to write for the podcast Women Who Sarcast:

Introducing The Sarcast Compendium: New Words for Sarcastic Times.

Word #1: bothershite: a term coined last week in Episode 4, by Women Who Sarcast, is defined as a person who insists on an unwanted and comprehensive social interaction in a public place.

To hear more of the podcast, Women Who Sarcast, and Episode 104’s Sarcast Compendium go to  or go to Women Who Sarcast on Facebook.  It’s a real podcast. With two sarcastic women. Check us out!


Laughing Coyote

Categories: comedians, miscellaneous, psychology humor, Relationships, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

What Is Not A Wall

In this episode, Comedian Laughing Coyote Punches Holes in Trump’s Wall-World, announces candidacy for President 2020, interviews President Fuckface von Trump-Slug and Kellyann Creepshow, analyses the psychological meanings of the WTF Wall, and finds a metaphor real people can live with.

Performed live at fundraiser for Santa Fe Dreamers Project,  October 2017.

Live Audio and transcript below.


What Is Not a Wall   

Because I keep waking up every day realizing that I, a neurotic introvert, would still make a better a President, I am staging a coup right now. I’m declaring myself President. I have a plan. Who is with me?

President Fuckface von Clownstick has said,“We’re going to build a Wall.”

I refuse the hegemony of this metaphor: I will not live in Wall-World.

As President, my first executive order will be a ban on believing things just because you believe them. This will make believing things without facts to back them up, illegal, or at least extremely difficult. So we may end up deporting Christianity accidentally, but I don’t see that as a problem—No more dinosaurs attending Christ’s crucifixion! How sad.

Thus, this will insure that you can’t just say anything or think anything when facing a problem. Imaginary solutions are extremely effective only with imaginary problems. We fact checked that. We looked for problems that didn’t exist and then counted how many times they got solved. Some fascinating data there.

Executive Order number 2 will ban Blaming the Victim :  We are outlawing the belief that powerless people are so dangerous  that they must be deported, maimed, killed or imprisoned. We are forbidding the belief that most social problems in the United States are created by the people are who have almost no political or economic power. Who the fuck thought that up?

“Hey white rich man! Are you powerful or not? Make up your mind! If you are powerful you don’t need to deport people who aren’t. Is your power that shaky?”

Executive Order #3:  We are outlawing the white race—mainly because it doesn’t exist. If it did there would be such a thing as Caucasian food. I dare you to go into a restaurant and order Caucasian food and see what happens. Like Twinkies and Velveeta the white race is artificially constructed, has no nutrition, and is packaged with sugar to make it seem yummy and palatable. It’s false and bad for your health. It maintains power by splitting people into two groups: those who believe in the racist purity of the Twinkie, and those who eat real, nutritious, multicultural food. Let’s stop with the Hitler Snack Cakes already and admit that everyone likes a good salad with veggies of all colors and origins. Let’s participate in the hegemony of the tossed salad rather than a wall of white wonderbread—if you’ve ever eaten wonderbread you wonder how anyone could think it’s bread. Analogously, how in the world can a wall mean freedom?

My fourth executive order will be to ban all walls around and inside the United states. We’ll call it the Wall-Ban.  (Some idiots will think we are banning Wal-Mart. . . which may not be a bad idea.)

The only wall that will be allowed is the wall we’ll build to house all the other walls we are no longer using.  (Walls to keep deer out of gardens with be grandfathered in).  Walls that will be banned behind the Wall-To-End-all-Walls  are:  a) the border wall, b) the wall around the hearts of Republicans and racists (oh I’m sorry that’s redundant) and c) the wall around Trump’s fucking brain that keeps it from functioning in reality and d) the wall of magical thinking that is dominating our nation at the moment.

Research shows that walls almost never have the intended effect and are indeed, when used with a proscription, are almost uniformly ineffective.

For example:

Woman 1: I’m having trouble paying my health insurance.

Trump: Have you considered using a wall?

Woman 2:    I need an abortion but all the Planned Parenthoodsare gone.

Trump: You should use the vaginal wall. It’s a great wall. It’s made of vaginas.

Man: My kid is struggling in a poor school district and isn’t learning anything.

Trump: Tell him to sit closer to the wall.

Teenage girl: I am going to be deported. I have no family in Mexico anymore.

Trump:  There’s a wall that can help you with that but you need to be on the

other side of it.

Young Man:          I’m driving to work and the breaks on my car are broken-

Trump:  Don’t worry. We built a wall across that stretch of road last month. It’ll                               stop your car for sure.

Please note: You can use this style of argument with Trump supporters in the grocery store or at Thanksgiving to show them how stupid they are.

I then did some investigative reporting. I got an interview with President Fuckface.

“Mr. President I am having very sad feelings about the plight undocumented immigrants and dreamers.”

“Obviously you need a wall. That would fix you right up. You wouldn’t see or feel any of that with a good wall.”

“But I have a wall. I got one right after the election because I knew the price of walls would go up. But I still feel bad.”

“You need a bigger wall, obviously,” said Trump.

“Well I did that too. At the first sign of feeling bad, I added a couple of stories; when I got sick, I added some more. But I’m sicker. It isn’t working. And it’s getting so tall I’m afraid it’s going to fall on me.”

“Well you’ll need a wall for that.”

“I need a wall to protect me from a wall?” I said.

“It happens. Or maybe you need the best wall. ATrump Wall. I’ll have my assistant describe how it works. I would tell you myself but I don’t really understand how it works, plus but I have to go fix some holes in my Wall; some facts about Dreamers have punched their way through.”

So then Kellyann Creepshow way showed up and took me to a castle and moat.  They called it Moat-a-Lago

“We have the best moats,” she said.

“What about bridges?” I said. “I’m more in a bridge kind of mood.”


“We don’t do bridges,” she said. “That’s something a Mexican would do.”

I shuddered and managed not to strangle her.  Inside the building,  I looked around, “Where’s the Trump wall?”

“It’s a special wall; she said. “It’s mostly invisible. You know like thoughts.”

(I suddenly had a thought.  Maybe Trump will just end up pretending he built a wall that deported Dreamers and undocumented souls and he won’t really do it.  And that would mean we could just tell him that he already blew up North Korea.)

Meanwhile Miss Creepway was saying, “You should buy and use a Trump-Grade Wall. This wall is the best because can just project your own reality on it, whatever you want it to be. You can’t see over it, or around it. This wall keeps out anything you think is bad, including other people and facts. You can enable your psychological wall (we call it the psycho wall for short) with the Unidirectional Osmotic Projection System that projects your own unwanted history, feelings, thoughts, emotions and weaknesses, psychological wounds and traumas onto other people so you can hate them instead of yourself.  Everyone else becomes an angry, childish, liar, while you remain pristine and perfect inside.  You are good; they are bad. You are the powerful victim able to be hurt by a butterfly wing and empowered by nukes.”

“Powerful victim?” I said having not heard that before.

“Oh yes, the Trump Wall allows you to be so easily victimized that you become the most powerful Adult  Toddler.”

“But that shows the wall isn’t working right?”

“It’s working perfectly.”

“But wait so Trump thinks he’s the biggest victim and the Most Powerful Man?”

“The wall works its magic,” she said.

“Has anyone died in your presence from cognitive dissonance?”

“Not today,” said Kellyann Creepshow.  “By using the Best Wall you are the only one who exists and the only one who has the right to exist; anyone else infringes your resources. Since you’re President you ARE THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. (See everyone gets to be their own President of the World.) You have the right to destroy everything in the world because it’s you and you’re entitled to do what you want with yourself.  There is no world; it’s all a wall of You reflecting You back to You back to You back to You.  It’s the best thing ever. It insures that you continue to exist. Would you like to join the Republican Party? The Trump Wall comes free if you buy the red hat.”

Suddenly I understood how Trump won the election; this is what he was selling: narcissistic racist psychosis.

All the executive orders I am signing are designed to destroy the elements of the Trumpian Wall-World.

This brings us to Executive Order 5: All borders and thoroughfares in the U.S. will be papered with the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The area will operate under the mandate of inclusivity and tolerance.  Let us have interlocking paths of people walking, talking and acting freely, holding hands, helping each other.  Let us live under the hegemony of linked hands and hearts driven by sound, wise minds and the collective use of power. We will grab the hands of the Dreamers and not let them be taken from us; we will hold on to our undocumented citizens in the power of embrace. To take one, they will have to take all of us.

Executive Order 6 What Is Not a Wall:  All citizens and undocumented citizens will find alternative metaphors to guide and ground their thoughts feelings and action. Let us find what is not a wall, and empower these things instead.

I like the image of people punching through any walls and reaching for each other, grabbing on and making an unbreakable grip. I prefer the image of everyone working to take down any Trumpian wall they see, brick by brick. Then we will build houses with these bricks for all of us to abide in.

What is Not a Wall mandates we all ask ourselves what we can do today  to take down a piece of the wall, visible or invisible, through effective actions, like what you are doing tonight and what you’ve already done.

Let’s fight this fight together!


Performed live at fundraiser for Santa Fe Dreamers Project.

Ferocious Feminists Fight for Immigrant Rights Poetry and Open Mic night raised over 600 dollars which was donated to the Santa Fe Dreamers Project. Thank you to everyone who performed and everyone who came and donated!


Categories: coping with Trump, immigration rights, political humor and satire, psychology humor, racism, Trump Presidency, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Satan Denies Voting for Trump: Day 4 of Trump Apocalypse


In an exclusive interview with Dumbfounded Magazine, Satan reports, “I just couldn’t get behind Trump. He’s just too evil. I might have endorsed him if he hadn’t had the support of so many vile GOP leaders and half the population of the United States, but under those circumstances, I just couldn’t go through with it. It’s just too vile, even for me. He’s giving the Devil a bad name. In fact I’m thinking of leaving this field altogether.”

Satan went on to say that Hillary is not and never was evil. “She didn’t meet the criteria. The most she ever suffered from was some minor league-bad and that’s mainly because she married a man and tried to reform a sexist society. Look I know bad, and she’s no bad.”

Satan continued, “Most sociopaths I know didn’t vote for Trump either. Your basic serial killer/psychopath took a long look at him and his organization and said, ‘Whoa, wait a minute. I don’t want any part of this. I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it. What do I tell my children when I come home from a long day of ripping off pensioners and killing people with knives? I just couldn’t do it.”

Apparently, narcissistic personality disorders, and other personality disorders, have started seeking treatment in droves. One well-established narcissist explained, “With Trump at the helm, there’s nothing for us to do. He’s cornered the market on psychopathology and sucked all the air out of the room. There’s no benefit now to actually being a garden variety narcissist: he’s sucked up all the selfishness and so the rest of us might as well get into treatment and sign up for the Democratic Party, so as to give our lives some purpose and meaning. Trump has being a selfish bastard all locked up and there’s no more room for us personality disorders. As part of my treatment, I plan to work a Crisis Hotline at least until the mid-terms.”

Not sure if this is the silver lining we were hoping for, my brave friends, but maybe it’s a start.

It’s Day 4 of Trump-aggedon. Only 1451 days to go.

May we all have the good fortune to be saved by a sociopath.


Laughing Coyote

Categories: mental health, political humor and satire, psychology humor, religion, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

New Female Viagra Promises 1/2 More Orgasms Per Month to Women Who Are Still Conscious After Taking It

The new female Viagra, called flibanserin or Addyi, promises ½ more orgasms per month for women who are still conscious after taking the drug.

The up side of this is that while on flibanserin, you won’t need to drink because the medication provides for passing out already.

Apparently the drug comes with syncope, or random fainting spells, and a list of AA meetings, because you can’t drink at all when you are on the drug. (I suggested that the prescriptions be dispensed with a free portable fainting couch, but I was summarily dismissed by male doctors who know that women would just prefer to fall on the ground instead).

Presumably that extra ½ orgasm per month makes up for not being able to imbibe your favorite martini.

Researchers are not sure what happens with the ½ of the orgasm you are not having, which seems pretty uncomfortable to me.

Is your orgasm simply on pause, until the next calendar month? That will create some odd expressions while you are shopping, doing a Power Point presentation for shareholders, and caring for your kids. . . Don’t worry kids, mommy is just stuck in the middle of an orgasm she won’t have for another two weeks. Go do your homework.

“Woman paralyzed on bus from not being able to complete entire orgasm,” the Daily News reported last week.

Perhaps this is why women tend to pass out while taking Addyi? And you can’t even have a drink to relax while you are stuck in mid-getting off! I would think having to run around the planet trapped in mid-orgasm might be worse than not starting to have one to begin with.

It could also produce strange wrinkle lines for long time users.

This was denied by Sprout, yes the weirdest-name-ever-drug company that makes Addyi, a word that rhymes internally with Giddy-up, which I think would have been a far better name because isn’t that what they are doing to us? Giddy-up there women and hurry up and have some more orgasms that we can charge you for! Hurry Up might have been an even better name. (Why don’t drug manufacturers ever consult me about these things?)  Hurry Up and have that half an orgasm that you are still paying full price for.

          Hurry Up and come faster and more often so men don’t have to learn about relationships and pleasuring a woman, and learning the difference between a clitoral orgasm, a uterine orgasm and a full-on G-spot orgasm that comes from deep under the earth and ruins your carpeting, not to mention how to make a woman come so hard she spews liquid in all directions: Why should women be the only ones with faces full of cum? (Oh I’m sorry, ‘female ejaculate.’)

Look folks, my political correctness is slipping, I’ve been stuck with only half of my last orgasm for four weeks now, and the rest of the climax is overdue, and I’m overwrought with anxiety because I’m worried that the 2nd half of my medically induced orgasm is going to show up at the wrong time, like my next job interview (because dealing with a month long 1/2 of an orgasm got me fired), while I’m piloting a plane, at a political rally against Donald Trump….actually I want it to show up when Bernie Sanders finally admits that Hillary beat the crap out of him fair and square. Ahhhhhh that feels so good!

 Hurry Up! so women themselves don’t have to take responsibility for knowing how to create and direct their own pleasure. Why take personal responsibility for your libidinal expression when you can pay to take a pill that lowers blood pressure, is very hard on the liver, creates fainting spells and has its own black box warning right out of the gate? The logo should read: Take flibanserin, before it gets banned!

The pharmaceutical company, Sprout, refused to say if some women pass out while having that extra .5 to 1 whole orgasm per month. But fainting can be a plus if you really aren’t that into your partner, and a double-plus plus for men who would rather have sex with an unconscious woman.

This Half-an-Extra-Orgasm Pill can sort of treat your blues too because it was originally developed as an SSRI to treat depression. Personally, I know that ½ more orgasms per month, despite the facial tics I’m developing, has totally turned around my Major Depressive Disorder!

Addyi apparently can provide cures for psychological disorders, as well as make a woman more independent of her partner, an unintended consequence, but real nonetheless.  Below is a testimonial from Dora, who spend years in therapy and in an unhappy marriage. She reports,

“Praise Jesus, I know having one more orgasm, even an increase of half-an orgasm per month, made all the difference in my life. My life went from being fucking meaningless to be completely fulfilling all without having to change my relationship with my partner, myself, or making my man learn how to really make me come. It’s a Partner in a Pill I must say. Now that I have Addyi, I really don’t need a relationship.”

So even though Addyi, a name which sounds like a sexually repressed jihadist might make on the way to blowing up an air terminal-

Or is that the sound the woman makes while having that .5 to 1 more fulfilling sexual experiences?

Or is that the sound she makes when paying for the prescription?

Or the sound that a woman makes when fainting on the cement?

Or was it the sound the original researchers made when it failed to work as an anti-depressant, and failed the first two applications to the FDA as a libido pill, for not demonstrating enough positive effects, to make the side effects worth it?

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

(Why did it get passed? Politics and money. The product has not changed.)

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

Or was it the sound of the original developers killing themselves so as not to report another failed product to the shareholders? (Addyi does rhyme with Hari-Kari).

Or is it the sound a woman should make when reading the side-effects in THE LITTLE BLACK BOX that comes with the medication. Yes, Female Viagra comes with its own Black Box warning from the get go.  Unlike Prozac and Zoloft which took over 20 years, Addyi has a black box warning now, which is the most severe warning of possible life threatening side effects that can exist on consumer medication.

Maybe the fact that the word “flibanserin” has the word “ban” in it is a bit of oracular truth in all the propaganda. And that’s the prediction some experts are making (see below for a list of informative links below this blog post), namely that the drug will probably be pulled off the market in a couple of years, either due to side-effects or ineffectiveness, but that will be after the pharmaceutical company makes a bunch of money.

Or maybe Addyi! is the sound of a somatic and psychological jihad perpetrated upon women by profit and patriarchal driven big business and medicine, just because men have often suffered from the delusion that there is something wrong with feminine sexuality, when most of the time there isn’t. I think we should develop a pill for Male Sexist Delusion Disorder or MSDD. Women would buy this pill for the men in their lives (and for the insufferable women like Condoleezza Rice and Phyllis Schlafely who do their dirty work for them).

What should give us women, and anyone related to a woman, pause is that Addyi affects the nervous system of the woman, not blood flow to the organs, like in the case of Viagra. Something else: SSRI’s, of which Addyi is one, are known to cause lower libido in patients that are taking it. How in the world can a class of medications known to lower sexual libido be marketed as a libidinal enhancer?

WTF is right!

That’s like trying to sell Valium as all night study aid.

Furthermore, only 10 percent of the sample patients who participated in three studies showed any improvement in libido or orgasm at all. That means that for every 10 women who take it, only 1 will have that oh-so-sought-after ½ of an orgasm per month that will make all the difference. Third, “low libido,” only exists in a fraction of the women in the United States and then you have to measure whether or not “low libido” in those women is in fact a problem. Fourth, the drug can’t be used in menopausal women or post-menopausal women which is when most women might actually need or want it, and fifth, most libido problems are emotional, psychological or hormonal and Addyi does nothing to address the hormones and there’s no real proof it really does anything significant, that ½ orgasm notwithstanding.

I think just getting really drunk before having sex, if you feel inhibited, just might be the more prudent course of action.

It’s what I plan to go back to if I can ever stop fainting!

But Seriously Folks…

I would hesitate myself to take a drug that affects the entire nervous system, with serious possible side effects that compound if a person drinks alcohol, such that no alcohol use at all is recommended while taking the drug. It’s stupid to take medication when there’s no solid evidence to support its need or its efficacy.

Most sexual issues can be remedied by education about how to pleasure and self-pleasure and addressing issues with the partner, that includes knowledge about how women’s arousal patterns and sexual needs are different than those of men and probably will never be remedied by a pill, unless it is one that just makes people horny. Why haven’t we just prescribed rufies or rohypnal for all these women?

Oh yeah, the unconsciousness part!  Apparently this is only legal if a pharmaceutical company does it!

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

This harkens back to medicine’s habit and psychiatry’s habit of pathologizing an aspect of women’s sexuality and then medicating the woman for it and in this case, marketing it to make money until people realize that it is dangerous and doesn’t work.

More information is available in the links below and though I find the concept of ¼ an orgasm funny (I had to cut down my dosage), I think flibanserin is an attempt to exploit women and men’s desire for more complete and enjoyable sexuality. Addyi is no Viagra, that’s for sure.


Laughing Coyote

Web Links for your information below

Pertinent links so you can see some of the research and do your own.

Documentary on the attempt to develop a libido enhancer for women  “Orgasm, Inc.”

“On average, treatment with Addyi increased the number of satisfying sexual events by 0.5 to one additional event per month over placebo. Across the three trials, about 10 percent more Addyi-treated patients than placebo-treated patients reported meaningful improvements in satisfying sexual events, sexual desire or distress. Addyi has not been shown to enhance sexual performance.”


“Because of severe side effects Public Citizen, a consumer watchdog group says  Addyi will be pulled from the shelves in a few years time because of “serious dangers to women, with little benefit” to them.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t heard the last of this drug,” the group added.

“This is a product that is neither very effective nor particularly safe”” Dr. Susan Wood, a former FDA official told the NBC, adding that she was disappointed by the approval. “It won’t benefit many women and at the same time the approval comes with a lot of restrictions, setting a precedent that a drug for women’s sexual health has to be treated in a very special way.”

October 2010 The FDA rejects Boehringer Ingelheim’s flibanserin for female sexual disorder, saying there is little evidence it increases libido and citing unacceptable side-effects. The company sells it to Sprout.

October 2013 Second FDA rejection.

Categories: psychology humor, Sexual humor, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

New Mental Illness that Strikes only Democrats Discovered by Psychologists and the CDC

Psychologists, working alongside the CDC in Atlanta, have discovered a new infectious, politically induced, psychological disorder,  that apparently affects only Democrats (and possibly their pets).

This disorder has been identified as Bernie Sanders Support disorder, or BS-S.  Although it is too early to make a complete determination (research results are still pending), this appears to be an organic brain disorder that becomes active in white, liberal, educated Democrats who listen to Bernie make idealistic speeches that no thinking humanitarian person could possibly disagree with—Let’s end poverty! Let’s raise taxes on the Rich! We need to save the Middle Class—Wall Street Bad, American People, Good!

The first sign of the disorder is when the Democrat mistakes those beautiful words for actually being a practical plan forward. BS-S does two things to these hapless Democrats—induces the delusion that Hillary Clinton is evil, forgets about the sexism that runs rampant in both parties, and fails to recognize that Bernie is functionally the Trump of the Democrats with a nicer vocabulary and better intention, but the result—polarizing the parties—is the same.  Sometimes the BS-S’rs don’t realize that their syndrome induces delusions that could result in stubbornly not voting for the non-Bernie Democratic nominee thereby rendering the entire nation vulnerable to the rampant idiocy and greed that is the GOP. No one wants a Cruz-Trump, Ryan -Cruz or Cruz-Rubio ticket.  When the even GOP wants Bernie to win the nomination, people infected by Bernie Supporter Syndrome, fail to take that red-herring into account.

Even humorists and comedians can be affected with BS-S Syndrome.  One very well unknown comic (interviewed yesterday by a journal that has almost no distribution and doesn’t want to say who they are because of an outbreak of BS-S among some of the editorial staff) told a story about inadvertently coming down with BS-S.

Comedian X told her story:

“Well, you know, last Tuesday night I was feeling a bit idealistic, and I just thought it was fatigue, or a touch of cold, flu, allergy, or delirium from working too hard inside the U.S. school system, or maybe I had  “a touch of the insurance,” which is fever, chills, and headache brought about by paying into any kind of U.S. insurance policy; but by the time I woke up the next morning, I had a full on case of The Beliefs.

But instead of running to the bathroom, I found myself running out into other people’s yards and compulsively planting Bernie posters, and then posting pictures of Bernie and the Bird obsessively on the internet and singing songs from the Feel The Bern musical.

Even though I was alone at the time, it was embarrassing when I started congratulating myself for simply saying things well, and I even got two podiums, one for the living room and one for the front yard, before the BS-S really kicked in and I found myself with even more Beliefs and Emotions and Heart and Caring. . .and I went around my house and started throwing out my whole FACT Collection because Hillary uses them all the time.

I found myself thinking, “Oh my god, Hillary, that evil bitch who was so unappealing and mean that Bill Clinton had to cheat on her in public in order to feel loved, uses FACTS! Get them off me! It burns; it berns!  Aaaagh!”

We had a bonfire that night, me and the neighbors who weren’t inside with the shades drawn praying to the Virgin de Guadalupe in Spanish that the crazy, white,well-educated, liberal, Democrat, academic, and teacher wouldn’t bring over another Bernie cake with leftist frosting, with the letters Eat The Burn inscribed on the top. anyway, those neighbors who agreed with me and/or those who were  too scared to say ‘I’m with Hillary or Trump, or God forbid that Ted Cruz Freakazoid,’  were out with me burning PRAGMATISM, because both Obama and Hillary have used it, from time to time, and look at the burning shit storm we’re in now? We chanted Feel the Burn, Feel the Bern, Feel the Bern.

Before the bonfire burned out, we raised our fists and said, “Who needs Practicality when we Believe things. We believe our government is corrupt. We believe the establishment is corrupt. We believe it is time for a change. We know our great BS will save us!”

But even we were taken aback when the Tea Party guy down the road joined us and then said, “You aren’t Tea Party? Shit, sorry man. Sounded like it. My bad; my bad,” and then he backed away with this hands raised for about 100 feet and then ran away.

Then the fire department came and put out the wildfire fire fueled by our lack of remembering to bring some water. Who needs water when We Believe We Can Change…oops the world is on fire? Did anyone bring a hose?

And then the next phase of the virus kicked in, and I realized that feminism isn’t important in this election and neither is sexism. I found myself calling everyone I knew and babbling about “how. . .you know. . .we are just people. You know? People.  Male people, female people, sometimes male and female people, but people.” My best friend hung up on me when I said, “Animals are people too.”

My friends called the police. And the social-worker on call for Santa Fe county. And the mental health crisis intervention unit, also called BSS, the Behavior Services System. ….my head was spinning with acronyms. I thought Bernie sent them. I told them I was just fine and converted them promptly. I really didn’t understand how ill I really was.

Running a 99 percent-er fever (which is really 104. 3 in thermometer terms) made some of the details of that day fuzzy. I don’t really remember this but I apparently I was texting also and sending Hillary supporters private pictures of my ideology, hoping to persuade them the same way Anthony Weiner did his constituents, or at least the women he was hoping to fuck.

Somewhere in there, I think I tried to stop.  I remember thinking, “Even my going too far is going too far,” but even though I didn’t want to think about The Urn, sorry, the Bern, anymore, I couldn’t stop. I started searching the internet for answers and recording my symptoms in a journal, which is why I have such a good description of various events.

I knew I was really sick when I found myself happily clapping along and mouthing the words of Bernie’s grump speech, I mean stump speech (sorry, like a migraine and stroke, Bernie Supporter Syndrome can affect word-choice, even weeks later, like when you say “Wall Street,” instead of “Isis,” and “free college,” instead of  “realistic economic plan,” and “revolution,” instead of “foreign policy,”  and “gender doesn’t matter” instead of “GENDER FUCKING MATTERS.”  And saying “I will benefit America because I’m pure and idealistic,” instead of “selfish quasi-democratic opportunist.”)

When I started getting invitations via FB and email to join some other BS-S’ers for dinner even in my addled state, something felt off.

During a brief respite from The Beliefs, I knew I had to dial 911 before I became incapable of sensible speech which would turn my call for the ambulance, “Please help me. I’m infected with emotionally based idealism and don’t have long before my brain turns into ideological Left-wing jelly,” into  “Come and get me ambulance and let’s go vote for Bernie in whatever state he’s in today.”

The ambulance came and took me to the Infectious Disease Treatment center, which out here in New Mexico, consisted of a cabin out in the middle of nowhere staffed with nurses, an online library with streaming video, and a TV. It is underfunded. It’s a BS-S recovery program for people who believe things without checking with Rachel Maddow first.

They left MSNBC, alternating with NPR and the BBC (and occasionally FOX!) on all the time as my fervor rose and fell over several days. When I heard that the Koch brothers’ PAC threw some money and support behind Bernie, I felt the siren song of the What the Fuck? And I slowly came out of my ideological delirium.

What? The Koch brothers are on Bernie’s side? I grabbed all the medical staff I could and they spent the next twenty-four hours reading facts about both campaigns and their respective political history.  I came to my senses and realized Bernie is simply another politician trying to make his mark in whatever way he can, just like the acutely politic Hillary, and all those GOP screw balls. Say what you will, they are all politicians of one stripe or another. Since when do we elect politicians who are pretending not to be?

Furthermore, it dawned on me that the cure for BELIEF  is not more BELIEF.  I sent a friend to go rescue my FACT collection.

I have fully recovered from the Bernie Supporter Syndrome now, thank you.

During my two-week recuperation, I studied up on the syndrome, so I can help others.

Unlike most psychological disorders, BB-S appears to be contagious, even over the internet, and is related to another set of syndromes the CDC is calling BSS, or Bernie Savior Syndrome. Researchers are unsure if BS-S causes BSS or if BSS causes BS-S (it’s the usual chicken and bullshit question), but the probably scenario is that Bernie himself suffers from Bernie Savior Syndrome and is running around the planet triggering both BSS and the Bernie Supporter Syndrome (BS-S), kind of like the difference between HIV and full blown AIDS. (And despite the overwhelming evidence, people still like to argue that these diseases/syndromes don’t really exist.)

Psychologists believe that people can be carriers of BSS without knowing it. Witness the befuddled white masses—liberal, can think, but don’t, obviously ready for a Savior with white hair—where have we seen that before? The difference between the types of BS, is that Bernie Savior Syndrome is a closely related, but typically more unconscious, psychological disorder  in many white, well to do, sexist liberals who went to school but could only loosely be said to be educated, and want a father figure, and/or a preacher, to save them. Nice to see that Christianity isn’t dead on the Left. The GOP underestimates Democratic secularism.

I understand this in anyone who is under 30—you have not yet gotten over the idea that there is such a father-figure Savior, but as soon as you hit 31, unless you’ve gone to graduate school, you know that if there is a Savior, He ain’t a politician! (I learned to spell ain’t correctly in grad school).

Look if Obama couldn’t do it with all the momentum he had, and old white man with a socialist/Christian god-complex, who is left of Left, will not be able to do it either. What the hell is wrong with us? Do Democrats have to fight and question at the wrong time? The Boat is sinking, with Captain Trump D. Bligh too near admiralty for comfort, and we’re going to whine and fuss about the proper way to protest the The United States Titanic of Government, instead of just practically finding the nearest Hillary and sticking her in the god damn hole?

She’s prepared. She knows where the hole is, what shape it is and who else to stick in it, when she needs a break, in order to make it to port and then, amidst a ridiculously partisan inquiry, made slow steps towards replacing the Titanic with a more socialist-democratic container ship, and Bernie can help. Maybe they can use the CIA/FBI/NSA/NBC/CBS to assassinate the current crop of Super Right Wing Christian Ideological Terrorists and we can get a new crop of Republicans who aren’t as crazy and adolescent.

People have asked me how I caught BS-S. I don’t know. Maybe one of my democratic liberal friends is a secret carrier?

And it may be a species-jumping psychological virus. Perhaps I caught it from my cats, both of whom are staunch Demo-cats, who were watching Bernie on TV one night. I thought they were so cute, I filmed them. I had no idea what was happening. They could have gotten infected by the BS-S and then given it to me when they licked my hand or drank out of my water glass.

So, I rewound the video in my iPhone and watched it again.

Then I realized what they were doing. They were watching the Bird, not the Bern.

Of course. They are only cats after all.”

That concludes this report. Thank you to comedian X for sharing your story.

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Categories: political humor and satire, psychology humor | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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