Shakey went
to a psychiatrist. "Doc," he said, "I've got trouble. Every time I get into
bed, I think there's somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there's
somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. "you gotta help me, I'm going
crazy!"
"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said the shrink. "Come to me
three times a week, and I'll cure your fears."
"How much do you charge?"
"A hundred dollars per visit."
"I'll sleep on it," said Shakey.
Six months later the doctor met Shakey on the street. "Why didn't you ever
come to see me again?" asked the psychiatrist.
"For a hundred buck's a visit? A bartender cured me for ten dollars."
