Freud at the Deli

“Freud, my man, how’s it going?”

“Good, good, and yourself?”

“Oh, not so bad. Come let us sit down
in one of these booths here
and enjoy a nice lunch.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, Freud, I hear people are reading your books?”

“Really? Which ones?”

“Oh, you know the ones where you give the theories
to explain that which is not really explainable
like the dreaming or the growing up as a kid
and being in love with your mother
and wanting to kill your father
and liking to suck on the breast
and enjoying the smell of your poopelech
and noticing the virility of your manhood
and God being a projection of the human mind
and society being misguided by its own
out-of-control libidinal energy
and suppression of said energy
by institutions and industry,
y’know that sort of thing.”

“I’m sorry, could you be more specific?”

“I don’t know, y’know, they’re talking about
you and you’re writings
the unconscious desires we seek to fulfill
in the world, repressed emotions,
the latent homo-sexuality,
the transferring of feeling on to the therapist,
the formations of the cathexes
and the catharsis
and the humanity
and the perversity, the biology,
the neurology, all of these things
they talk about it.”

“And, what do they say?
All good things I hope.”

“Of course, of course.
Nothing but the best they say about you.
They say you delve into the mind
deeper than anyone,
that you get right in there
and do your thing
and when you are done,
the patient, your client, he is never the same.”

“They say that?”

“Oh yes, they say most wonderful praises
of you, they say that when you treat someone
you treat not only their mind but their soul
you are the healer the revealer
the professor and teacher and missionary
and guide, you are their rabbi, their mother
their father, their god-figure, their savior,
their inquisitioner, their temptress,
their everything, you are the Psychoanalysist
the therapist of men and women
a God, a Titan.”

“Well, listen, that’s all very nice.
And I’m flattered I really am, I mean,
if it wasn’t for my super-ego, I would tell you
to continue but, really, you make me blush
and the blood its running to my face
and my other extremities
under the table you can’t see it
but I have a very strong libidinal situation
going on right now,
yes your kind words, they’ve really
hit the right spot if you will.”

“O, Freud. You are too humble,
but I must tell you. I must go on
so you can hear what they say.
They say your work is like the hands
of an angel gently caressing their inner
thighs
they say your voice, your tongue
is like having the most amazing
vibrator right next to your clitorus
or scrotal skin-patch
they say when you speak
its like your furry beard is rubbing
right up against their most intimate
areas
how your patients love you
how I love you,
o how I love you,
how I love dining with you,
here at the deli,
every Tuesday, it is my favorite
thing to do, I… I look forward to it
the entire week, I really do its
quite wonderful, actually.”

“Well, thank you. You are too
kind, say, do we have any mustard
here on the table I can’t find any?”

“O, Freud how you love the mustard
yes of course I will ask the waitress
you will have all the mustard you can
eat, all that you desire, even your
repressed desires for the mustard
will be satisfied. Ehh? You like that,
you like how I use your theory
to describe this common-place
scenario? You’re ehh, theory of
the repression?”

“Yes, that’s wonderful. But, uhh,
y’know I just want some mustard
that’s all. Maybe you could save
the theories for another time.”

“What? What is this Freud?
Are you suppressing my conversational
desires in this moment of male-to-male
heterosexual bonding?”

“No, not at all. Not at all.
I just want the mustard, that’s all it is.
I’m hungry, I want to eat my sandwich.”

“Listen, Freud, I had a dream
and I want you to interpret it if you don’t mind.”

“Well, actually, again I really just want to eat
my sandwich…”

“No, no… don’t worry. Don’t worry.
It won’t take long. Listen I had this dream
I am on the toilet, and uhhh, its going
but its not going that great? Right.
I mean, things were coming along
but I’ve had better success at other
times with the bowel movement and…”

“Whoa, whoa. Listen, I’m trying to eat over
here, what are you saying?”

“What, Freud! I’m just asking you to help
me with my dream, that is all.
Look, we know you have your theories
about the anal complex, well, this is a little
embarrassing but I wanted to talk to you
about it, you are the only one I can trust!”

“Look, I’d love to analyze your dream
but the thing is… it’s a process.
Really, I would need to look into your whole
history, psychoanalyze you for 10 maybe
20 years, read-in-to-you my own thoughts
unintentionally, it’s a whole schmegegalech
believe me, you don’t want to get involved.”

“No, Freud. You are the best!
Of course, I want you to analyze me
to interpret my dream, to see how
the toilet is representative of my great Aunt Libby
and how I am fulfilling my wish
by taking a shit,
only you can help me to understand my
innermost self.”

“Where is that mustard?”

“Hold on a minute, Freud, I will get the waitress.

Excuse me Miss, we need some mustard
for my friend Freud here. Thank you very much.

Hey Freud, did you see that girl?
Did you see her tuchas?
That is one nice honey bun, if I do say so myself.
Ehh? Ehh?
I mean, I’d like to have her in my dreams
if you know what I’m saying.”

“Yes, I get what you’re saying.
It’s uhh, pretty straightforward”

“Yes, yes. Freud, I am saying I would like
to release my libidinal energy on her
punum. I’d like to have an oral fixation
with her breastases, I’d like to Freudian
ehh slip my tongue in and out of
her ehh Oedipal Pussy if you will yes,
this and more I’d like to do.”

“Yes, I understand.
That’s wonderful. Very clever.”

“No, you don’t get it.
I want to dominate her like the super-ego
of a repressed Victorian child,
I want to smoke her like your Cocaine
Cigars, I want to be polymorphous
perverse with her in ways I can’t even
describe, to feel the Ocean,
to taste the salt on my lips,
I mean on her lips, I want to.”

“OK, OK. Yes, I get it. I understand,
you are using my terminology
to describe sexual inter-course
with this woman, the waitress,
you don’t have to be a Psychoanalyst
to get it, alright already please stop.”

“Whoa, Freud. What is this?”

“What is what?”

“What is this negative energy from you?”

“What, there’s no negative energy?”

“Yes, I think there is. I think there is Freud,
you are suppressing my willful desires.”

“No, I’m not. I just want to eat my lunch.”

“O yes, you are. You seek to castrate me, man.
You, you are rejecting my conscious thought process.”

“No, that’s not it at all. You might be projecting
a little bit, I’m trying to get my mustard
to eat my pastrami sandwich, and you are now
being negative and projecting it onto me,
and that’s all it is.”

“What? Freud, what are you saying?”

“Nothing, nothing I just want to enjoy my lunch
that is all.”

“Freud, how could you? How could you betray
me so? How you deny me here in the booth!”

“OK, y’know what? Now, I see what’s going on.
This is transference. You are in love with me,
as your friend and therapist, and you’ve
enwrapped your emotions around me
like a fair maiden wraps a knight around
her little finger, but I’m sorry I cannot entertain
you in the ways you desire, I must
establish my boundaries.”

“Freud you are crazy!
What is this you say with your conscious mind
to me? Is not your unconscious, no maybe
pre-consciousness slipping inwards?
Your ego is being overwhelmed by the libido
your super-ego is not functioning properly
is this not the case?”

“Look, y’know what… let me tell you a secret.
All that ego, libido, super-ego crap,
it’s a bunch of baloney. I made it up,
it’s a re-hashing of Greek philosophical
psychological theory, I put it together in a nice
sounding way, wrote some books,
made some money, but it’s nothing
to get bent out of shape about.”

“Freud, what are you saying?”

“Look, don’t get me wrong.
Yes, we are biologically moving towards
life and death simultaneously.
Yes, God he is a figment of our imaginations
the great supernatural father
yes there is the neurosis the obsession
the patricide the totems and taboos
the civilization discontented
the illusion projected
the Moses the holy
the homo, the driving,
its all there, of course.
But, ehh… I don’t know.
Y’know, I haven’t eaten.

My blood sugar is low, I’m waiting
for the mustard from the attractive
woman for my pastrami sandwich,
what can I tell you?”

“Hey Freud, let’s do a free association
ehh? I say a word, you say a word.
OK, here we go. I say the word
Poodle.”

“Look, I really don’t want to play
this game right now.”

“No, no. Freud, we must.
O the word association, you created it
well I don’t know if you created it
but you used it, we should do it
you and me, I want to do it with you.”

“OK, well now, if you must know,
I would say your last statement was kind of gay.”

“What?”

“Ehh, you want to do it with me?
I’m just saying its kind of gay.”

“Freud, you’re crazy. Its a manner of speech.”

“A manner of speech, maybe, if you are gay
it is a manner of speech!”

“Freud, you defense mechanistic
son of a bitch
don’t displace your water on me friend
OK you want to live your hedonistic
penis-cigar sucking life, that’s on you
OK, all I want is to enjoy a lunch
maybe some nice conversation,
don’t take out your own
latent homo-sexuality on me OK.”

“Can I get the check please?”

“Oh, Oh yea, that’s right.
OK Freud, you get the check
you get the check that’s fine
yea you go on with your day
big man. Big Psychoanalyst
doesn’t have time for me and my
dreams cannot give me what
I want. That’s just great.
Good for you!”

“I’m sorry, I just need to go.”

“Yea, yea. You go you go
live in your fantasy world
where you make up bullshlackah
and find the same thing happening
with everybody
when you interpret them
you just give them what you think
you know nothing.
You Freud! You Fraud!
I will sit here,
I will wait for the mustard
and I shall cut it
with my knife.

“OK, that’s great.
I gotta go.”

“Yes, goodbye Freud.
you son of a bitch.”