I'm not truly a person to care about many things. I'd like to start this off with my foolish advice. There are many people in the world that choose to basically kill themselves than face reality. For example, this woman told me a story as I sat across for her, waiting for a few friends. I chose to express my thoughts in a monosylabic expression of interest. I used words like "Oh," "Yeah," and "Man." I shouldn't call it apathy as much. I would call it not really giving a shit by a non-verbal display of sincerity. Everyone passed by as she told me her story. Everyone paced until they realised how stupid her stories were. Stupi is a general term. In actuallity, her stories were dull manefistations of what she believed was happening to her. Her child was deathly ill, her boyfriend supposedly had the hots for a freshman, and she was going to drop out of the same school for a second time. God, how I hate my mornings.
Most people would give her advice. I'd hit her with my car. I'd start my car, back it up far enough to gain a high-speed rate, and floor it. That's how I'd treat depression. I want to offer a service, nearly free of charge. A client would call me and tell me their problem and location. I'd drive my car to where they were, and commit intentional vehicular manslaughter; we could call it "treatment." Obviously they would pay for my gas. She would pay me extra because of the emotional involvement. It's like a doctor performing surgery on a patient they had to listen to as they complained about their normal life situations.
She starts telling me how her baby is a few pounds overweight. She's seven-months pregnant, she drinks, she smokes; she's lucky her baby won't come out looking like a genetic mutant. Oprah would have a field day. "There is talk of a movie coming out this June. The summer's first smash hit. It is called My Baby, The Alien." I know the title is a little less than intriguing, but the tabloids would eat it up. Christina Ricci would be perfect for the role; she looks like a badger, too.