Professor C.B.T.: Why I’m a CBT nut

When I see ME patients they are, to me, like pictures of stars in an other faraway galaxy. They are an invitation to come and see for myself how much silliness God produced in a nuttershell.

CBT and the world of CBT-ing has a glorious future: all we need is for the Canadians and the blokes in South Australia to join the war in Iraq and for the Americans to NUKE the whole sandpit.

Fifty years ago, the ME fairy tale was launched.

Their mission was to head straight from work into bed, where they would watch tv, be pampered by friends and family and listen to my messages in the hope that aliens would come and rescue this place from Ying and Yang flu.

We would serve them biscuits and tea and then drop them in NICE GETANOMO.

The little aliens never showed up, as they ran away shitless after seeing what a bunch of losers ME people were.

Who in his right frame of mind would want those dense punters on his planet if they could have the England team and Steve McLaren and his racing team.

McLaren one was build around goalies who felt that you shouldn’t catch a ball as it might be a granate, and the FA told the managers to GET as many foreign players in the Premier League so no Englishman would know how to kick a ball anymore.

And this Steve bloke also ran an F1 team that was basically a Ferrari and now we know that Renault was build around a McLaren so Ferrari was the mother of all cars but we knew that a long time ago when EROS RAMAZOTTI started his own team racing Alfa Romeo’s.

And no one complained then that he called his team Ferrari but his cars were build and designed by Alfa Romeo.

And the ME lot did the same, they started to use the MS molucules, sorry modules, to tell us that ME didn’t exist and they were right.

Sorry, we were right.

Who in his right frame of mind wouldn’t be happy for twelve sessions of CBT with a sexy and adorable bloke like ME???

I talk from my chair high up in the stratosphere and look down on all of you, at the same time I am somewhere else telling the EhEhEhEh people that you lot should be put on a ship to Australia so we cut down enormously on our CO2 emission as you lot don’t work yet produce a ludicrous amount of useless CO2.

We could obviously help and reduce your output by talking and boring you to death with CBT and all you have to do is ask.

Even those super blooper guys from the NICE institute of walking away from real research doctors have recommended to use our Harry Potter therapy as designed by no one other than ME, professor C.B.T.

When Albus Dumblemore is gone, he is gay so no one wants him anymore, as Freud said that gay people can’t be magical, so I will take his place.

Due to my CBT personality and GET prefabrications I can fly like Catweazle and I can dumble dry you like the best Miele on this planet.

So what more would you want from the top advisor of the EhEhEhEh company that refuses to pay anybody anything for whatever they have paid their premium for.

You see, we are in the business to become mega rich, and I mean mega.

The first ELEVEN is on the wax bank, sorry on the way to the bank and my bank manager has been so static that I will be the honorable Northern Rock myself.

Albus 2, also called my lovely and super sexy unfortunately married CBT matrix herself is way beyond ME and forging a path through the myriad tiny ME cynicals also called patients and terrorist groups like One Click Explosives and other combustable groups that cling to ME as if it was the best thing since sliced bread.

And believe ME, they are right.

It’s all just too excellent for words, the notion that ME is the saviour of psychiatry, the saviour of Soccerhood so we can drown our tears for not qualifying but at the same time this will mean that half the fans will need at least five or six sessions of emergency CBT to tell them that the world will not stop to turn, apart for Steve McLaren and his F1 team.

They have paid him two and half million so he can spend all of that on CBT to make sure that he will survive and then we have done another tremendous job.

Just like we did by telling the world that yuppie flu is not in the mind and not in the body either.

And all those idiots believed that utter nonsense.

Unbelievable.

They even paid me so much money that I can swim in it and count all day long and I will never see the end of the eleven million coins.

So I have sent a message in a bottle, as we don’t use the internet in our place, too many spanners out there that want our money and now it’s just a question of waiting for Mr Brown to send more money to our magical craziness.

Solaire or so long, whatever you prefer, and with ME and malingering as your main course you won’t notice the difference anyway.

Yours truly,

Professor C-B-T from my place high above you.