A Central New Jersey wannabe "therapist" social worker who is famous for his "treatment" of many diagnoses today woke up in a penitentiary in Trenton, New Jersey this Sunday morning Working in a hospital in the Garden State for over 20 years he was recognized as being particularly effective with certain diagnoses, but investigators revealed this morning that what had been taken for "cures" of his patients were really just manifestations catatonic behaviors. Presenting himself to families of patients and the bucolic hospital community, he was found to have a "split" personality: who appeared empathetic, compassionate, and extremely caring to families on the one hand. But to patients in the closed rooms of the hospital where he exercised his cravings for psycho-sexual satisfaction through inflicting sadistic mental pain and anguish on vulnerable people, he let his creativity roar.
Sitting in his orange jumpsuit with the weak rays of the eastern sunrise coming through his slit of a Trenton cell window, he smiled a smile he only shared with his victims. Patients came to know that when he displayed this thin, weak little version of a rabid rattlesnake about to strike that the pain was coming like an incompetent New Jersey electric utility worker's sensations when he grabbed a an uninsulated ten-thousand volt wire during Hurricane Sandy.
This social worker, who patients called behind his back, "the executioner" would intensively study each patient who came to him and devise the most intense, targeted method for causing the patient permanent psychological trauma. His "clean outside, dirty inside" approach to remaining respected by the hospital's executive staff, created a surreal sense of being in the seventh circle of Hades whenever he was doing "therapy."
One former patient said of him, "He would always talk very softly before stopping in and leaving us in this creepy, radio-silence for what seemed to feel like a millennia. Then that thin serpent smile with his pale complexion beginning to take on blotchy redness on his paper-white skin inherited from the trolls who were his ancestors in some North Atlantic shite whole where people have practiced incest for thousands of years. He would cross his legs, stare down with a long pause admiring his new Payless shoes, and then 'wham,' he would say or do something that he knew would cause someone in the room to just hemorrhage emotionally.
Interviewed in his solitary confinement cell he proudly, pompously shared in his faux imitation of a sentient human being his approach to therapy: "Whatever makes me cream my jeans." I take a vulnerable patient when I get him and start slow, saying and doing little things that my colleagues would never detect that leave the patient begging me to stop when I have him behind a closed door in my office. I suavely increase the intensity of the psychologically traumatizing things I do to this patient until he's shaking and practically pissing himself. That's the part of love, and I know I'm getting there when my tiny pencil nub of an anemic dick begins to turn all North Atlantic incestuous pink. Once I know my cock is as hard as the rocks my ancestors worshipped in our ancestral homeland has achieved it's full erectile one inch length I know I'm almost there. Then I know I just have to keep doing things only a little bit longer to torment the patient until he's in tears imploring me desperately to "please, please stop." Now the best part comes as do I. I ejaculate--nothing big--just like a little squirt you get out of the tiniest grape. I feel that sticky fluid on the inside of my right leg (my little dick leans right of course) and I know my work is done, I tell the patient he's missing something really important or that if he spends any more time in my office, I'll be entitled to take away his deductible and charge him enough to bankrupt him and his family.
The investigator, paused as the worker shifted in the hard gunmetal gray prison chair rubbing the skin under his manacled wrists. "How did you become an L.C.S.W.? Doesn't that take some effort, graduating from social work school, and then practicing under a clinical psychologist or psychiatrist before you can earn the L.C.S.W. giving you the right to work as a therapist?"
The inmate shifted again in the chair and this time massaged the skin on his ankles underneath the shackles fastened there. "Well, it's like this: I'm a white guy, which was kind of rare when I went to social work school, and I give off this phony metrosexual kind of persona. Social work school wasn't that hard to get into, and the faculty just kind of ate it up that had this kind of early version of I love LGBTQ. They just eat that 'shite' (that's what my incestuous grandparents called it in our repressed, perverted, pedophilic homeland) up. LCSW means "licensed clinical social worker," but in my case I lovingly think of myself as "lizard cum bag sadistic woos."
"You see," the deviant in the orange jumpsuit continued from his dingy cell, "it's easy to pose as a kind, caring, intelligent, professional in the healthcare industry when you're really such a p***y underneath as I am.
The patients who are assigned to me in the hospital are already so damaged, weakened, self-doubting, vulnerable that I can create a surreal nightmare of a Mengele on steroids torture chamber behind closed doors and have them believe--as I tell them--that I'm only doing what's best for them. Outside the closed doors of my private quarters where I make Guantanamo, German shepherds, electrodes on you genitals, and water-boarding look like a combination of Six Flags, the Plaza Hotel, and Disney World, I really excel at posing for our "brilliant" CEO (his education was in HVAC), my colleagues, and the rest of the hospital staff as Mother Theresa on Xanax. Why, I've been nominated by the hospital's psychiatrists (who have less patient contact than I have testosterone and pop prescriptions like chickens on Ex-Lax to shut up the sickos who come to them in the ten minutes they spend with them) for a Nobel Peace Price
"But you did eventually get caught? Didn't you?" said the investigator.
"Sure I did, but remember I've had twenty years of f*****g innocent, vulnerable, damaged, sensitive people up. Every time I got a new one, I got 'wood' (well I should say considering the size of the 'bishop') and said to myself with a rush, "I'm gonna f**k you up so bad! You're my bitch now (that's a non-binary term for me), and by the time I get done with you you're going to envy Anthony Hopkins when he was under the thumb of that Baltimore prison psychiatrist in "Silence of the Lambs." You're going to be walking around like Donald Sutherland in "Body Snatchers" yelling four letter words and 'Clarice, Clarice, Clarice' into out-of-service into telephone booths in Port Authority and the downtown East Los Angeles Greyhound terminal like you have Tourette's on crack. Sure, I got caught, but do you know all the people I f****d up in Central New Jersey who are walking around in a place where people start out damaged from road rage and toxic waste sights? I'm just creaming my orange jumpsuit thinking about it! Oops, sorry, how embarrassing, some just ran down my leg under my ankle monitor--feels good actually, soothing on the raw skin--kind of like all the Eucerin and Nivea I used to swipe from the hospital supply closet. Shite, man, all the bandages, antibiotics, electronics, gauze pads, syringes, hydrogen peroxide, Bacitracin, Prilosec, Metamucil, Xanax, Prozac, and that's not ever including all the boxes of oxycontin, courtesy of the Sacklers, that I stole form the hospital pharmacy have made me a millionaire! All I have to do now is set up an account for this oily warden who gives the word 'sinecure' a meaning that would impress the sleaziest New Jersey State Government employee. Just a little cash to that cretin, ex-cop who makes "The Shawshank Redemption" warden look like a fusion of Mahatma Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, Pope Pius the something, Martin Buber, Albert Schweitzer, Mother Theresa, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Patrice Lamumba, Bernie Sanders, Adlai Stevenson, Franklin Roosevelt, Eugene McCarthy, Jimmy Steward in "It's A Wonderful Life," that Labrador or whatever it was in "Old Yeller," Lassie in 'Lassie,' Shirley Temple in 'Heid, Andy Griffith and especially Barney in 'Andy of Mayberry,' Donna Reed, Captain Kangaroo, Sky King, Sergeant Preston of the RCMP, all the RCMP, Sherry Lewis, the cops in Dragnet, Samantha in 'Bewitched,' Jeanie in 'I Dream of Jeanie,' Patty Duke's English twin, but not Patty Duke, Jane Wyman, Ronald Reagan's son who lived in the Village, John John who lived in Tribeca, Yoko Ono who lives wherever she wants, Scarlet O'Hara but only when she says "You love me, you really love me," to Clark Gable (alias Rhett Butler), E.T., Gary Cooper, Gregory Peck (Why hasn't he been canonized?), Joan of Arc, all Sherry Lewis' puppets--especially the lamb, Robin Williams, Tom Hanks, Paul Newman, Elizabeth Taylor (but only in 'National Velvet,' before she met Richard Burton and became a shrew, Jerry Lewis (especially on the Labor Day March of Dimes Marathon, Danny Thomas for St. Jude's Hospital, the Beaver and his brother Wally, the good rabbits in 'Watership Down," all the gurus the Beatles hung out with, Richard Dreyfus, the French soldier who the anti-semitic masses in France sent to prison, Dustin Hoffman who I think played him, Joe DiMaggio (but not Mickey Mantle or Babe Ruth, Curt Gibson, all chipmunks, ground squirrels, koalas and wallabies (the shoes and the Australian mammals, kangaroos when they're not punching you, baby kangaroos, Joeys, when they're channeling their inner masupialness and hanging out in their mother's pouches, all chimpanzees who don't have tuberculosis or HIV from the piles of rotting food in Africa where Western powers have cut down all the jungle to build totally ridiculous capitalist s**t that recks all the beautiful cultural symmetry, organicity, marriage, ceremonies, peace with flora and fauna for native people just because they don't speak some ugly colonists' European language and don't naturally carry STDs like adventurers from dirty cities who traveled to the South Pacific and raped all the gentle people to cause them epidemics, and native Americans who trusted all these wasps-Kennybunkport-Cape Cape Cod-Providence-Newport-Plymouth Rock invaders who came from what's now the U.K. and filled gift baskets for native Americans filled with yellow fever germs that wiped out every kind person who had been here for eons only taking as many buffalo as they needed and cherishing nature not like all the Buffalo Bill Republicans who believe in that manifest destiny self made man bullshite and wantonly left the plains of this country wall to wall soaked in rotting buffalo carcasses and drenching the golden fields in blood!
"Anyway, all I'm trying to say," said the under mensch social worker, "is that if you take all the best of the best people (I forgot Helen Keller's teacher and Anne Frank) and add them all together--work with me here, I am a highly intellectual of our states social work school--anyway what I'm trying to say is this:
1) Add all the goodness of all the incredibly good people I've listed above together.
2)Okay, all that goodness together is like a thousand times the goodness than the power in the atom in fission or fusion that has all the power of the universe in it.
3)Look at this infinite total amazing sum of goodness.
4)Then tell compare the badness of this f*****g warden's( and wardens in general to the unbelievable height of the pile of goodness you have and the warden's badness would be ten thousand times higher. Feel me?
"Yes," said the investigator to the social worker.
"No, I mean really feel me. It's hard to beat the meat, slap the money, wax the bishop, you know with these handcuffs on."
"I don't think that would be appropriate," said the investigator.
"Well then, you leave me no choice to get my rocks (actually 'peas' in this case) by fudge packing another inmate when I get out of solitary."
"That's your choice," said the investigator, "but I think you're the one , as a disgusting predator on poor, vulnerable, emotionally fragile Central New Jersey patients in your hospital trusting your and begging for help,
whose going to be having his fudge packed.
"Oh no," said the poseur social worker LCSW. "I'm going to have my corn hole ripped like a young woman in a delivery room of a prestigious upper midwestern hospital at the mercy of untrained, merciless, murderous, obstetrical residents with forceps!
"Well, you deserve it said the investigator after all you the abuse you've done in your 'professional capacity.' You really deserve it, and I hope you didn't have any of the K-Y you stole from the hospital supply room in your pocket when the swat team arrested you.
"No, I didn't, said the social worker hanging his head practically touching the shackles on his ankles.
"Good," said the investigator walking out the door "Now you're the 'bitch' of the people you belong with."
"Tear down that prison wall and rip out these jail bars, Mr. Gorbachev," said the social worker as the investigator left the cell.
"In your dreams," smiled the investigator and left to have a real Trenton tomato pie with a side of pork roll before going "down the shore' to enjoy a peaceful day as far away from every wannabe therapist in New Jersey.
