All right, back to something about golf.

Hello, my name is Sigmund Freud (pronounced ZIG-mund Froid you silly American cunnigets) and I vant to talk to you today about--YOUR MOTHER!

Vas she a strong voman? Did she tell you when you could or couldn't poop? Ja? Ist eine true?
Now answer me this--are you having trouble with your golf game, hmm? Can you not hit zee little vhite ball around the green golf course and into zee hole? No? Then come and sit on my sofa so that I might pick your brain.

That's it, relax. Breathe deeply. Let go.

Now, I am going to say a vord or phrase and you shout out vhat ever comes into your little filthy mind. Okay, mein cunniget? Here vee go:

Donkey...?

I'll say it again.

Donkey...?

Listen, you've got to say what ever comes into your crazy head. Ja? Vhitout your cooperation, I cannot free you from your neurosis. Trust me, I know you'll do fntastic, as my good friend Arnold Schwarzeneeger says.

Again. Donkey....?

Obviously, you don't want to cooperate. You say you want to talk about your lack of golfing skill? Fine, it's your dime.

Now, your mother vas a tyrant, was she not? A castrating tyrant? It's fine to say so, everyone's mother vas a tyrant. What you've got to do is free yourself from her controlling ways, which, through no fault of your own, you have internalized. Ja, your mommie is dead and in zee ground, but she still controls you.

Free yourself! Fly like the free bird that your are! Fly, damn you, fly!

Why don't you fly? What? You thought I was Dr. Coop?

You stupid little pooper! Do I look like a white guy? I'm Jewish you idiot--I don't GOLF! Get out of my office.
....and don't kid yourself, you're paying for this visit. I could have been scoring chicks with Jung down at the club instead of wasting time vit you. Here's how it works. I do the talking, Carl here--

has the body, and the come to us.