Gavin's Psychology

Tired of Freudian and Rogerian garbage?
Then try:
Gavin's Psychology

Oh #&$% a disclaimer!
All this is made up by me. I am not a psychologist, I prefer to keep my soul out of Satan's hands. If you want to follow my ides, instead of some guy with a weird Italian sounding name over my opinions, good for you! If you want to follow my advice, I'm not liable for any harm you inflict on yourself.

Who needs this?
I'll tell you who: CRAZY and STUPID PEOPLE!!!!!! Here's some ways to tell if they need my help:

THEY TYP IN A.C. AND FREQNTLY MISPELL AND ABREVTE WRDS, JUST LIKE THIS AND THEY HAVE NO SENSE OF PUNCTUATION
They have an IQ higher than mine. People who are geniuses tend to be insane mass murderers.
They IM me and don't talk about anything.
They say "Hot enough for ya?"
They laugh at everything, even clear and direct insults toward them. And they won't stop.
They been around people in the category above for more than 4 hours.
They type "LOL".
They think I'm Gavin Rossdale.
They actually follow this advice.

The test.
If they pass all the above, here's what you do. Read each one of these statements about the person, and have them say if they are true, false, or a matter of national security. For a 'true', give 1 point, for false, subtract 1/2, for 'matter of national security', give 5.

I salivate at the sight of mittens.
My father was a good woman.
My mother dresses me funny.
My mouth talks to people.
I often lie to make myself obnoxious.
I prefer spiders to lima beans.
Chiclets make me sweat.
I often think that am a special agent of Billy Graham, Oral Roberts, and/or Her Royal Majesty.
I become homicidal when people try to reason with me.
I have never been able to put a bagel into overdrive.
I am anxious in rooms with hairy walls.
Boredom excites me.
My mother was Erik the Red.
Eggplants make me blush.
I giggle at the mention of wood. (Note: If subject goes into mad laughing fit, deem him/her insane.)
Cannibalism is a small price to pay for popularity.
Parts of my body crawl away.
A wide necktie is a sign of disease.
It follows me wherever I go.
I always let people get ahead of me at swimming pools.
I have taken shoe polish to excess.
My nose just went blank.
I vomit in my sleep.
Sometimes I find it hard to conceal the fact that I am not angry.
I have more pimples than you can shake a stick at.
I am not threatened by someone who wants to put my tongue in a paper punch.
I am tired of being elected president.
I collect hypodermic needles.
I face catastrophe with a song.
Spinach makes my feel alone.
My ears hear voices
I do not!
Some one is trying to invade my stomach.
I would like the work of a hummingbird.
Constantly losing my underwear doesn't bother me.
I bite other people's nails.
I hereby claim this land in the name of the Queen of Spain.
The three greatest me who ever lived were Eleanor Roosevelt.
If I go into the street, I am apt to be bitten by a horse.
Cousins are not to be trusted.
I am startled by a fish.
People who break the law are wise guys.
I have always been disturbed by the sight of Lincoln's ears.
I would never shake hands with a gardener.

Add up their score, and if they got below a -10, they're sane.

What do we do?
Once we know who the insane people are, conquer Cuba, and have the entire population evicted, and put all the crazy people there by dropping them in crates from low flying airplanes. Eventually, you'll end up wit an overpopulated island, but the mass murderers will take care of that. When you need to load on more people, have soldiers with flame-throwers take out a quarter of the island. Also, have a satellite focus the sun's energy on the island to make the people saying "Hot enough for ya" drive everyone even more insane. For compensation, give Florida to Castro. We might want to talk with Russia for a Siberia-for-California deal.

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