- FEATURE: Fish out of Water
- GUEST OPINION: Playing Safe
- MUSIC BOX: Potter Plunges into Pop
- GET OUT: Wimpy Triumph
- CREATIVE PEAKS: Of Clay We are Created
- REDNECK PERSPECTIVE: Pilsner, Pickups and Potato Chips
- WELL, THAT HAPPENED: Trading the Hole for the Unknown
- FEATURE: Labor Pains
- MUSIX BOX: Wild for John Wayne’s World
- CREATIVE PEAKS: Stage Savoir-Faire
REDNECK PERSPECTIVE: Helping men overcome emotional issues
JACKSON, WYO – I stopped by Healthy Being Juicery hoping Susie would snag me a free juice. Instead of drinking it, I repackage it in Bud Light bottles and sell it at half price to the deranged organic juice junkies that live in cardboard boxes in the alley behind Inversion Yoga. I also pocket the $2 bottle deposit, providing me a net profit of $9.
“I can’t Clyde,” Susie said. “Every time I give you a free juice I am enabling you, perpetrating your manipulative behavior by allowing my codependency tendencies to subvert my value system.”
“I take it you have started going to counseling again,” I said, hurt that Susie could so heartlessly crush my entrepreneurial spirit.
“Oh Clyde, it’s wonderful! I have learned so much about myself, how all my problems can be traced to my parents. Our affair is symptomatic of someone excessively preoccupied with the needs of others.”
“I thought it was because Manchester isn’t virile.”
“Well there’s that,” she admitted.
“You should go to counseling,” Suzie said. “It’s only $150 an hour, and it is worth every penny.”
A hundred and fifty bucks an hour! My entrepreneurial spirit was suddenly revived. Knowing Westbank men needed counseling more than those of us in Hog Island, I titled my new enterprise “The Teton Pines Community Counseling Center.” I added the subtext: “Helping men overcome emotional issues.”
Finally, I had my first customer. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said. “I’m a member in good standing of the Teton Pines and attend the Music Festival’s annual wine auction. I belong to the Art Association and to “Keep Jackson Free From Those We Don’t Want Here” as well as other nonprofits promoting tolerance awareness, but my life still feels empty. My wife and I even eat a Sudachi Sushi twice a week but nothing seems to help.”
“Hmm,” I said, which is what counselors get paid to say.
I clicked my fingers and Amber came over. “Please pour a beer for my friend and me,” I told her. “Then bring out a platter of barbecued pork ribs.” Amber was dressed in a small skirt, a smaller blouse and because the hours didn’t conflict with her work as a private dancer, she had agreed to be my assistant for a 30 percent cut of fees. She eyed Bill, showing both interest and willingness, winked at him, then retrieved our beers.
“I sympathize with your situation,” I told Bill, and then pointed to the flat screen mounted to the wall. “I have Animal House loaded.” I let Bill use the TV clicker as we spent the next 50 minutes (50 minutes equals an hour in the counseling business, another trick of the trade geared to increase profits) munching on ribs, drinking beer and reliving classic moments in American cinema while Amber served us and modeled the latest in Victoria Secrets.
“I feel better than I have for weeks.” Bill said when he left. “Can I make an appointment for next week?”
“I think we can fit you in. It is my opinion you’re making emotional progress. Next week we can advance treatment to tequila shots and Caddyshack. Amber can model some Frederick’s of Hollywood.”
Men suffering from emotional issues and interested in a cure will need to call soon as available slots are quickly being filled.