Anthony and Huma go to Couples Therapy with the Little Red Hen
Doctor Little Red Hen
Dr. Little Red Hen: Well hello there. Come on in, make yourselves comfy, there’s some feed corn in the bowl if you get a little hungry during our session.
Anthony Weiner: Thank you Doc.
Huma Weiner: Do you have edamame, I would prefer not to eat corn, it’s so…Western.
LRH: Sit your bony ass down and DO NOT ask for anything that is not already here. Understand?
Anthony: Hey, don’t talk to my wife that way!
LRH: Now, what brings you lovebirds to my office?
Anthony: I said, “DON”T TALK TO MY WIFE THAT WAY!”
LRH: (controlled, menacingly) Listen you reptilian filth, you are nothing in here. You came to me, you’re in my office, my rules will be followed or I will bring in my cousin, Foghorn Leghorn, and together we will peck you both into quivering masses of protoplasmic jelly. Capish? Now sit, both of you, and do not so much as twitch until I say you can. Bugaaawwk! Bug bug bug bugawk! Now…let’s get down to business. You’re here for Body Dysmorphic Disorder, correct?
Huma: Well, not exactly. What is Body Dysmorphic Disorder?
LRH: Well, it’s when a patient thinks a certain part of their body is much larger than it is in reality. For instance, Mrs. Weiner, that mouth of yours, it’s huge, it stretches from ear to ear, nose to chin, and your teeth rival a mule’s. If you believed your mouth was actually larger than it is, perhaps the size of a humpback whale’s, THEN, you would have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Or, look at your husband, Mr. Weiner. His head is massive, and it is held up by a tiny little neck–clinically known as a pencilneck–if he thought his head was actually larger than the massive melon it is, and his neck much smaller, like perhaps, a blimp roosting on a chopstick, then he would have Body Dysmorphic Disorder.
Anthony: I see, well I don’t mean to brag or draw attention to my natural gifts, ahem, but…my dick is huge!
Huma: Oh no.
LRH: Bugaaawk! Bug bug bugaaaawwk! Bugaawk! What the hell? Perhaps, Mr. Pencilneck, you only BELIEVE your pee pee is huge. Perhaps, you really DO have Body Dysmorphic Disorder.
Anthony: Please don’t say pee pee. It just doesn’t do it justice. I prefer “schlong.”
Huma: Mr. Happy
Anthony: Third leg
LRH: Pecker! A little bird lingo there! HAHAHA!
Huma: Diddle dog
Anthony: Pant muscle
LRH: Bird bone
Huma: Long john breakfast muffin
Anthony: Throbbing python
LRH: Cock! adoodle doo! Bugaaakkk! HAHAHA! Now where were we? So, you believe your pee pee is “huge”–that’s your word. I need some evidence. Weiner lady, what do you think about his pee pee?
Huma: Well, the problem is not really the size of his pee pee. You see, he tends to exaggerate using camera optics and special angles. People think his pee pee, er, python, is big. It’s really not. The thing that bothers me is that he has pictures of it on the Internet, NYCT buses, Times Square Jumbotron, and he’s actually publishing a book for children called, “Anthony and His Big Friend.”
Anthony: Not true! Huma is exaggerating. I DO NOT put pictures of my schlong IN the NYCT buses, only ON the outside panels, you know, the big advertisements? Mr. Happy is too big for the inside ads! HAHAHAHA! Gotcha!
Huma: (pleading) Doctor Hen, please, I’m not a jealous wife, but it seems that Anthony’s diddle dog has taken over his life. He even took my wedding ring and had it sized to fit his joy stick. All he does is take distorted pictures of it and send them out into the world. I have traveled the world with the Secretary of State, you know, and even people in other countries come up to me and ask if Anthony’s junk is really that impressive. I feel soooo oppressed!
LRH: Hmmm…why don’t you leave him? Let’s see here, so far we have Penile Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Internet Diddling Addiction, and he’s a liberal Democrat. Why the hell do you stay with this excrement? What’s wrong with you?
Huma: But we’re here so you can help us save our marriage Dr. Hen!
LRH: Look sweetie, the frog has been cooked. You don’t have a bugaaaawking marriage. He’s a lowlife schmuck. What’s the real story?
Anthony: The real story? THE REAL STORY? She loves me! She’s gonna stand by her man! That’s the real story. At least, that’s what she said in the press conference.
LRH: Sit down you pencilneck fiend! Oh, please excuse me while I get something. Bugaaaawwwk bug bug bug bugaaaaawk! (she reaches underneath her butt and pulls out a freshly laid egg)
Anthony: Ouch! Ooooowww. What the hell? Why did you hit me in the head with that egg?
LRH: Because my aim is excellent. If it wasn’t so good I would have hit you in your frigging solar plexus. Now shut the hell up, it’s your wife’s turn. So, Weiner girl, why do you really stay with this dripping mass of putrefied pond scum?
Huma: Well, you see, he’s connected. He has a lot of power. He got me the job as Hillary Clinton’s body girl.
LRH: Tell me more about the Clintons.
Huma: (perks up) Well, you know, Anthony and I were married by President Bill, after his presidency.
LRH: Isn’t that lovely?
Huma: And Hillary thought my connections to the Muslim Brotherhood would be useful in helping her use the State Department to establish a global caliphate reaching into the West.
LRH: Excuse me while I puke.
Huma: And… Anthony has such a promising political future. You know, he’s a Jew and I’m a Muslim, and we can get along just fine. Isn’t it just beautiful?
LRH: What color was it?
Huma: What color was what?
LRH: Your wedding dress, what color?
Huma: Well, umm, blue.
LRH: Buuugaaaawk! BUGBUGBUGAWWK! And, do you intend to continue to “stand by your man?”
Anthony: Yes! YES SHE DOES! If she leaves me, everything will fall apart! Can’t you see? Hillary Clinton was her mentor. She taught her how to stand by a man with flaws…imperfections…nasty habits.
Huma: Dr. Hen, I really thought it would be the right thing to do. I just can’t leave him.
LRH: ‘scuse me. Bug bug aaawwwww! (she reaches behind her and pulls out another egg)
Huma: Oooowwwie! Dang! Son of a bitch! You hit me with an egg? What the hell?
LRH: Let’s continue. Suicide check. Do either of you feel an urge to harm yourselves or another person.
Huma: Yes! YES dammit! I want to kill the Infidels! All Infidels must submit or die!
LRH: I mean, any unusual impulses.
Huma: Oh, no. Nothing out of the ordinary.
LRH: Weiner boy? Do you want to hurt anyone?
Anthony: Well duh! Every member of the Tea Party! I wanna kill em! I want to beat them into plough shares with my pork sword, my enormous pork sword! I want to shoot them with my pocket pistol. I want to kill them, every last one, with my kidney kracker! Damn, I hate those people!
LRH: I’m referring to unusual violent impulses. Are you feeling an unusual desire to hurt someone or yourself?
Anthony: Oh, I see. No, no unusual violent impulses. Same old, same old.
LRH: Fair enough. I have to level with you really loathsome lovebirds. I’m an honest hen. I don’t think I can help you.
Huma: Oh no!
LRH: Relax Mrs. Weenie. I can’t help you because this is what you want. You don’t want to save your marriage, you want to salvage broomstick boy’s political career. AND, you little missy, you want power.
Anthony: Nonsense! She loves me! She said so. She will stay with me even if I am a political failure!
LRH: Get over it Mr. meat whistle. She doesn’t love you and she won’t stay with you. If you pull out, your career dries up, and your political career goes limp, she’s history. Let me tell you a little story. This Hillary Clinton broad…she is the idol of millions of men and women because she is a powerful liberal Democrat. However, she didn’t earn her power. She simply endured the abuse, cheating, whore mongering, pederasty, buggery, rapes, and serial perversity of a powerful man. You see, you Democrats have no standards. You worship power. Marriage, to Democrat politicians, is a platform for power. Children, to Democrat politicians, are nothing more than resume’ enhancements.
Huma: No, no. We could have it all. I really just wanted to have it all. This is nightmare.
Anthony: You lie, chicken. You’re career is fried! I have connections. I swear, I’ll have your license to practice psychotherapy.
LRH: Shut up son! I don’t need a license to practice psychotherapy, I’m a chicken. Besides, I have in my possession more tweets that you sent to my neice, Lady Cluck. She was posing as “Chickita Bloodletting” when you were doing your “Carlos Danger” shtick. There’s one tweet showing your diddle dog with Huma’s wedding ring as a collar. You sick, sick son of a bitch.
Huma: Anthony? You said you stopped!
Anthony: Well, that was months ago!
LRH: No, actually, you tweeted this two hours ago. Look, I don’t hold any personal grudges against you pathetic pieces of maggoty goat manure, so I am going to refer you to another therapist who works in this coop.
Huma: Oh, that’s so kind. Thank you Dr. Hen.
LRH: No problem. She is an expert at helping couples with your problem. Her name is Doctor Lorena Bobbit. You can make an appointment on the way out.
by Marjorie Haun 7/26/2013
Tags: Anthony, Bill Clinton, blue dress, couples therapy, Huma, Internet sex, Little Red Hen, mayoral race, Monica Lewinsky, Muslim Brotherhood, New York City, penis, sexual perversion, tweets, Weiner