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Welcome to another round of “Name Robin’s Condition”! Here is your summary of Robin of Berkeley’s latest presentation:

The Enemy Within

We all go through it: the harsh wake-up call that things aren’t as they appear to be. [...] Just this week, I’ve been dealing with people undermining me whom I thought I could trust.

As a recovering liberal, I’ve had the shock of a lifetime learning that many of the threats to our country come from within. [...]

With the sabotage going on in my life, last night I couldn’t sleep a wink. I lay in bed disturbed, thinking of these people who want to harm me.

Yes, the correct answer is “paranoia.” Congratulations if you diagnosed this one correctly.

Anyway, over at Sadly, No!, D. Aristophanes has done some very good scholarship on the The Lost Prophesies Of Nostradamus. That inspired us to come up with one of the Lost Limericks of Wingnutland. Here you go:

There once was a therapist from Berkeley
Who claimed that progressives acted quite jerkily.
She would rant and she’d rave
To make them behave.
We hope the Thorazine makes her feel much more perkily.

If you want to write your own, we certainly can’t stop you.

23 Responses to “Who’s Therapying the Therapists?”

So this broad in Berkeley’s quite odd;
Considers herself like the bard.
A put-upon target from Shakespeare!
But you know her bullshit is fake, dear.
Just a bucket of phobias from God.

Higgledy Piggledy,
Robin of Berkeley,
Suddenly found that
the left deserves hate;

Lefties, she whines, are all
Do us a favor, girl:

Double Dactyls REPRESENT!

Tragic heroine? Oh, sure.
Just a world full of woe knows her.
From tragedy’s heft,
She renounces the left.
What a fucking poseur.

Robin of Berkeley
What fruit drops from yonder bough?
Batshit nuts, it seems

(Yeah, I know haiku’s not just about counting syllables, but I’ve tried for a seasonal reference. And now you’re going to tell me you pronounce Berkelely with three syllables anyway.)

Oh Robin, Robin.
The world is out to get you!
Get over it, bitch.

There once was an American Thinker,
Who fancied herself a head shrinker.
But upon closer inspection,
It was all just projection,
And it turns out her love’s in the sink.

Alternate last line for Scott’s limerick:

To get right-wing yahoos to link her.

Nicely done, Chris. I was trying to work in a reference to Hans Brinker, but it was too early in the morning.

There once was psychotherapix
Who acted the prefix
Regarded therapy
As apostasy
And preferring right-wing dicks.

Yes, the correct answer is “paranoia.” Sorry, Scott, as a medical doctor I assure you the real answer is “borborygmi,” obnoxiously loud stomach rumblings.

Ooops, I mean, “Sorry, s.z.”

Wow, shades of busybusybusy, where a “shorter” post generated comments in Haiku.

That is, if I haven’t gotten my neurons crossed.

Robin on the brain:
old self an alien now
who are you, really?

Just this week, I’ve been dealing with people undermining me whom I thought I could trust.

As a recovering liberal

So let me see…radical changes in belief systems predicated on no real evidence of anything at all…persecution complices out the wazoo…loss of cognitive ability…child-like temper tantrums.

Doc Scott, with all due respect, but I believe our good friend Robin of Quiversly suffers from Pick’s Disease, the only known cure for which is death.

Doc s.z.

My apologies, Doctor.

When that Decembre with its faithless friendes
Is a purse of spiders that perce my handes
Envenomed in my bedde where disturbed, I lay
Too sadde to reach my pepper spray.

- the Catatonic Tales

“She won’t help you a bit,” my friends bet me.
Still I went to see Robin, to set me
Straight inside my head,
But all that she said
Was “The Liberals are all out to get me!”

Sad bird of spring
Publishes screed
Not aware Her title tells all:
The Enemy Within

Ohm we’re doing limericks?

Sorry, let me phrase that in the form:

From Berkely came a bird named Robin
Who epithets she was a lobbin’
She gave us the word
Why she’s disturbed
Turns out, The Enemy’s Within

Now this is kind of short
And lacks poetic meter
But I think poor Robin was
Betrayed by an wanderin’ peter

Shit – that would be a wanderin’ peter.

I know a town where the liberals thrive
Where hippies and wand’ring ghettokids jive
Quite over-well-supplied with treasonous thoughts
With Relative Morality and with Marxist ploghts
There lies the Therapist, wide-pupilled in the dark,
Hearing the Last Trump
in every chance remark.

Ohm we’re doing limericks?

Resistance is Futile.

Robin of Bedlam, with slitted eyes, writes: Just this week, I’ve been dealing with people undermining me whom I thought I could trust.

I wonder if this isn’t the situation described by s.z. about discord over Robin among the team of moderators at the American Thinker.

I’m curious: Scott and s.z., do you have these sort of problems with your own moderation team?

Something to say?