INTRODUCTORY COMMENTS

With this buggy article on the various kinds of psychotherapy in wide use these days  --- especially insight-oriented therapies and their diversity as compared with the large varieties of cognitive-behavioral therapies ---the buggy series on HBO's In Treatment continues to chug along on various tracks . . . some of them aesthetic in destination, some intellectual, and others just plain hilarious. 

Meaning what, these hilarious tracks? 

Well, believe it or not --- just this: crammed with rollicking, hard-to-believe celebrity-worship,  these bugged-out data-rails lead directly to the HBO forums on In Treatment, where the posters, virtually one and all, are ultra-horny, in-heat adulators of Gabriel Byrne, the actor who plays the series chief character, Dr. Paul Weston . . . these adulators, note quickly, all either girl-girls in their 30's, 40's, or 50's or guy-girls or girl-guys/guy-girl bisexuals in the same age range.  The number of hetero/heteros like prof bug far, far less numerous . . . a tiny assemblage, nothing more: maybe, at most, three or four ---unless a few fellow Neanderthal-humanoids were hiding out in the closet.  Alas, one of these hetero primates was a man full of rage, mainly directed at women or any hetero or girl-girl or girl-guy or bisexual who criticized the slightest buffoonish thing he managed to say. 

Eventually, the inevitable happened: the site managers got his number and quickly shut him down. 

Trust Me, No Great Loss To Anybody ---  Uh-Uh. 

No, not at all.  Not a loss either to the intellectual levels of the guffaw-a-second posts left by the girl-girls and guy-girls, all without exception swept away by their carnal-infested hots for Gabriel Byrnes' lavishly fantasized bod . . . including, as some of the guy-girl posters noted, his fab-ass.  Yeh, lots of stuff about his ass.  No, the buggy prof isn't making this up!  See the nutbin parody published at this buggy site a few days ago on this fab-ass, big-bazooka-packed fatuities that got both the girl-girls and the guy-girls all worked up in a lather of sexual ardor. Or, to go on, to the raucous, bursting-with-laughter delight that enthralled prof bug at that site off and on for a few weeks, as, one after another, he read the nutbin, trembling-with-erotic-expectation filled posts at the HBO site and, in reply, left several posts of his own.  Some of these bugged-out posts wry and bantering.  Others half-humorously barbed or biting.  And yet others clownish digs at the expense of these sex-starved, starry-eyed infatuates in those forums . . . their on-display carnal adulation of GB, as his admirers obsessively refer to him, of crazy-house extravaganza. 

Whatever, take it from me --- the whole shenanigan-laden hokum added up to an ongoing madhouse spectacle to behold for those who weren't and aren't in urgent sexual need to fantasize down-and-dirty foreplay followed by kinetically charged orgasmic coupling with Gabriel Byrne. Think prof bug's exaggerating?  No sir; not on your life.  Want proof?  Then just wander over to those online forums --- try, when you do, the most popular thread of all, thousands of slavishly eroticized infatuation entitled "I Could Likc Gabriel Byrne All Over!" --- and you'll have a hard time crediting your eyes . . . at any rate, if you aren't a recent escapee from a padded-cell crazy-house somewhere in Southern California. 

"What?  Is it possible? " you'll start wondering almost instantly.  "Ye gawds! "  You'll pause, rub your eyes; maybe twice.  Won't  help.  Because look . . . you'll be face to face with the hard evidence: hundreds of women posters, many with college degrees and almost all in their 30's, 40's, and 50's, behaving like teeny-bopping girls at a rock concert flushed with erotic fever and high on pot and booze.  "Oh my! Can't be!  Is so!" 

Think the bugged-out prof is exaggerating?  Then continue your little mental adventure at those HBO forums, reading on for just a few minutes, nothing longer.  No need to. 

"Whew! Wow!  What a scream!" you'll hear yourself say out loud at the end.  "I tell you, buggy guy, you've not been bull-shitting us.  No sir;what a riot!  Hard --- no, no; outright impossible to say who's more in hilarious sexual heat.  The screaming mini-boppers I've seen at rock concerts, their eyes bright and excited and squirming their little bottoms with urgent need on their seats . . . anxious as hell to bury their faces in the drugged-out rock-star's jean-covered crotch that he's thrusting and jerking at them up there on stage.  Or . . . let's see, these physically older but no more mature girls and girl/guys posting their totally in-heat fatuities; and, no less anxious" --- you pause momentarily, shaking your head at the screwball stuff you're reading ---"no less anxious as hell to bury their own faces in Byrne's fab-ass and unzipped bazooka-packed pecker.  Or so they say, no hesitation whatever."

Crazy! Crazy! . . . all right!

All of Which Brings Us To Today's Buggy Topic

To wit: . . . the different kinds of psychotherapy on tap for those of you who --- too clinically depressed even to laugh at the girl-girls or guy-girls or demoralized by your life's stresses  or just bewildered by things --- would benefit from some therapy.  Starting with a few transitional comments about Byrne's portrayal as a psychoanalyst and the contrast with his own analyst, who uses a different variant of psychoanalysis.

For all their obsessively bedazzled infatuation with Gabriel Byrnes, the chief character-actor in HBO's In Treatment, not all the female and guy/girl posters in HBO's forums on that drama-series' masterly creative breakthrough have been silly girlish stuff . . . far from it.  Here, by way of a buggy effort to bring some rounder perspective on the intelligence and decency of most of the posters, is what he said just a few hours ago: 

"After my trip to NY, I will reschedule my basic training and try to regain a little bit of my sanity. What am I saying, I am joining the Army Reserve at t 33 1/2, can't be too sane can I?"  --- Taken from a post by PMungle

The bugged out reply:
All Americans who volunteer for service in our military have my instant respect and admiration, and doubly so when they are women. I wish you success in your alternative career --- and your willingness, given the need for our reserve units to move into battle areas around the world, to risk you life for the rest of us. Thank you
........
For decades now, women have shown that they can be the equal of men in any battle situation, even though they are generally not used in front-line combat units. Doesn't matter. In the kinds of warfare we're engaged in --- whether in Iraq or Afghanistan or a dozen other countries or regions --- the battle lines are always fluid, always unpredictable, always shifting with such speed that even a unit of women soldiers (or mixed units) to guard a transport depot or a hospital can suddenly find itself under fire from three or four directions. And always --- without exception, our women soldiers fight with the courage, cool-headedness, and disciplined aggressivity that inspire the respect of their male colleagues up and down the line of command.
......
Even the Israelis --- a tiny population of 5 million Jews and 1.3 million Arab citizens --- have been hesitant until recently to train women soldiers for front-line combat. Until the last couple of years, they have always drafted and trained women for military service, and as in Afghanistan or Iraq, certain support-units have suddenly found themselves in flaring fire-fights. Yet despite the overwhelming superiority of those Arab countries in population that the Israelis have had to fight --- about 400 million Arabs (plus 70 million Iranians) --- the general command has been reluctant to train and introduce women soldiers into front-line units.

Sistas! Half-Gay Sistas! Fellow Bisexuals! and the Two Hetero/Hetero Dumbos in These Forums!

All excited, like the rest of you girls, by my imagery of GB's fantastically shaped ass --- a walking wonder male-backside as reported with joyously trembling revelations yesterday in this thread --- I was up late last night and on the look-out for more hot-stuff news about our little leprechaun darling's assets.

Around about 1:30 in the morning, half-crocked on Irish whiskey and humming Danny Boy obsessively, I was about to give up when, all at once, a new post came in from inner Borneo with tom-tom news that a head-hunter cannibal --- just back from a four-day stint in Manhattan (he sells shrunken heads to a real estate magnet with weird-looking hair, or so Chief Sliceitnicely told our regular Borneo-correspondent)--- had brought back with him some wowee low-down about our little Mick dreamboat.

Guess what? Guess what?

Seems that GB, a jogger, buys only jumbo-size jockstraps when he needs some support for his running on the streets of Brooklyn. Yoweeee! You hear that? The super-size, jumbo-cut jockstraps for our little Big-Pecker Stud-boy.

And get this. According to our Borneo poster, the manager of the sports store where GB shops exclusively reported that in his entire career, three decades log, the store had sold only one other pair of jumbo-size jocks, and that --- get this, girls! hold onto you panties! --- was to Shaq O' Neal back in 1998" .

God, did you hear that everybody, GB's cock is as big as Shaq's!

Hell, probably pound for pound far bigger yet, and for my money, likely unrivalled in the whole history of male evolution. I tell you, I was so excited that I immediately jerked-off and shot my nuts off right onto my pc monitor while continuing to work my moist three fingers around on my clit. Yeah, you heard me right: on my clit. (The secret girls: inherit a huge fortune when you're parents die, fly to Copenhagen, and you can for a cool $2 million come back to good old America with both a pussy and a prick. Believe me, double-whammy fun when you're in the sack. Yowee!) 

.....................

Alas, girls --- I wish I could stop here, but I've got distressing news that I have to get off my chest. Yeah, brace yourselves, it's terrible. Worst than you can imagine.

You see, after several other double-whammy bananas-and-cream stuff, I cleaned off my monitor and spent the rest of the night on my pc looking for more titillating tid-bits about our Irish cock-swinging champion --- Oh, fooking hawt that little urchin is, no? Long live Eire! --- and . . . well, I chanced upon this horrible puking news just being run on the front page of the New York Observer.

Here's the headline:

 PISSED-OFF ACTRESS AND EX-WIFE, ELLEN BESERKIN, SAYS GB WORST FUCK SHE'S EVER HAD!

"Worst sex I ever had in my life," Ms. Ellen Beserkin said in an exclusive interview with our reporter yesterday in her new penthouse on upper Park Avenue. "The guy has, let's face it, a shrunken prick about the size of a 10-year old little boy's. It took him six months even to find my clit, even after I showed it to him where it was at least 223 times. Worse, yeah worse --- his typical sex performance was over in 31 seconds. Wow, what a loser!  I tell you . . . to come, I had to sit him in a chair and climb onto his knee and rub my mound several minutes around his thigh even to get a flicker of pleasure from our, ha! "love-making.

Did that knee-humping help? 

Are you nuts? You know what it's like to try getting off humping a guy who's humming 121 stanzas of Danny Boy?  Gawd! by the fifth one, I was ready to do a Sharon Stone --- you know, get out a straight razaor, slash off the little prick's wee-wee!  Not that lover-boy would have ever noticed.

"Did you ever talk about it frankly with GB?"

"Sure --- you think I'm some kind of retard afraid to to talk to my husband frankly. You remember that hot-wire reach-around session with Al Pacino in Sea of Love? Hell, even that panicked cop who thought I was a serial killer got immediately aroused and forgot his fears as I starting humping his gorgeous butt. So I'd walk up behind that big flop and try the same thing."

"Did it help, that reach-around tactic"

"Are you kidding! GB tries to hide his small-size ding-dong by buying jumbo-size jockstraps and then fills them with two packages of cotton-wadding as he walks or runs around the streets of Brooklyn. When he plays a movie scene or a TV drama that calls for extra-tight jeans, he uses three packages. Don't wanta disappoint the fans, huh! What a wacko-city screwball! Anyway, after a year or so of frustrating bad-bad sex, I got GB to visit the most famous sexology psychiatrist in New York, a Dr. Paul Easton --- an old friend really, well . . . maybe more accurately a former lover when I was starting out in films (and yeah, a pretty good lay). "

INTRODUCTORY COMMENTS

Guess what follows?  Another wild bug-eyed report on the buggy prof's roaming visit through the weirdo badlands of American mass culture, at any rate as reflected in 90% of the daily posts found in HBO's mass-public forums devoted to In Treatment.  If you'd read the first two reports, all the better.  If not . . . well it's not necessary, but would help, if you take a few minutes and at least glance at the kick-off article for this buggy series that's found at the top of the home-page.  

Who what follows? 

Well, this: two bugged-out posts left recent in those forums unfold their wondrous, laughing-out-loud dismay and disbelief that have been churning away with hilarious intensity in prof bug's mind ever since he registered, logged-in, and thought that soon, in an instant or two, there would be threads galore filled with terse flowing prose and luminous insight into In Treatment's artistic triumphs . . . all that stimulating insight, hopefully a mental prod to prof bug's emotionally charged ruminations about the dramatic series creative breakthroughs, reflecting surely --- surely! surely! --- the thoughtful views of adult men and women who have been immersed in the theater, the arts, film-history, and literature. 

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!  And for several reasons, such . . . . Well, come to think of it, the two posts speak for themselves; no need to elaborate . . .  the-Wonderland trek of a rabid bugged-out sort hard to believe unless you've done what Alice first did and now, to his still disbelieving mind, prof bug --- tumble down a dark tunnel, a rabbit-hole of spiraling madness, and find himself wandering in dizzying world of topsy-turvy irrationality and rollicking logic-gone-fruitcake

FIRST POST, LEFT APRIL 10, 2008

Girls:

Despite the comically manic minds-on-the-fret worries being exhibited here, you have nothing to worry about.  No, not a thing.

Because . . . well because, fellow worry-warts, you post first of all with pseudonyms on this site.  Yes? No? Maybe?  And so even if I were to quote you fully, literally, there'd be no liable involved . . . and quite simply, if I may be simple and to the point, no one could possibly identify you in real life.

And secondly --- assuming you could stop your [i]The-Sky-Falling-In Chicken-Little histrionics[/i] a moment and actually you your noodle --- I have not identified anyone by pseudonym on the web site except 4Bee . . . a name, let us face it, only Wasps, Hornets, and Honey-bees could ever identify as a real hymenopterous insect of the superfamily Apoidea and hence make him buzz-buzz in alarm like --- well, like little Chicken-Littles caught up in a self-made frenzy of alarm.

And thirdly, amid your sudden flare-ups of panic and confusion, why should you be more worried about being cited --- if I did cite you directly --- on the buggy web site than the HBO web site?  True, the buggy site --- which one time was getting 6000 hits a day (almost exclusively from academics, grad students --- will likely display your frenzied mini-bopper carnal-fantasies to more eyes than HBO's forums are getting; but then no one need worry that he or she or she/he or he/see or she/she or --- like me --- the dumbo Neanderthal hetero/hetero here (all three of us!) is being quoted at all, only paraphrased . . . and at that briefly/.

........

Got it girls?  Guy/girls?  Girl/guys?   Guy/Guys --- oops, leaves only two others besides me in these forums.  And, lest I have neglected the bi-sexuals  . . . Girl-guys/Guy-girls?

Your rushes of emotionally delirious agitation are . . . well, let's just say overwrought and over-done, and be done with it.

Still, your jolting fired-up worries actually reveals unconsciously a flicker or two of reason for optimism --- I mean, anyway, among the few adults in these forums who aren't just in their 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, and (God help us) maybe 70s and 80s, chronically speaking, but are more or less matched by mental development and emotional maturity.

The transformation of these forums --- whatever the intent of HBO and its management here --- into shameless, backfence blather is what struck me, dumbfounded, full of disbelief, within the first hour or two of my stumbling by accident onto this site back in late February. Yesterday, as I took time off from superficial stuff like (in my consulting mood) what can be done to deal with sectarian militias struggling violently for control somewhere we're involved in, I found Hot4-Gordo posting about a dozen times at the top of each thread. So frustrated was she not to find her gossipy chatterbox chums on line, she-he? asked out loud: Jeez, where is anyone?