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Planespotting: Sigmund Freud Concurs: Psychology is a “Pseudo-Science”

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Today we woke up and thought, “We’ve got a heat wave on our hands—fuck Planespotting.” And we felt pretty good, nay, pretty great about this decision. We’re typically pretty indecisive—we don’t know, should we do Planespotting, should we not do Planespotting, this is so hard, we can’t decide, what would Uncle Jesse do (WWUJD)?, blah, blah, blah—, so to wake up and discover that we’d grown a pair of big brass ones over night felt, well, it just felt so fantastic. It should be this hot every day. But then something terrible happened. Actually, two terrible somethings happened. The first was that we realized we’d forgotten to TiVo Project Runway. Has little to do with Planespotting, we realize, but, damn it all to hell, that was supposed to be a great episode. The second thing, however, had everything to do with Planespotting. Two words: John Travolta. Three words: John Travolta’s plane. Four words: where said plane’s been. Five words: we’ll say where starting now:
July 25: Los Angeles Int’l to Dallas Fort Worth Int’l
July 14: Bangor (ME) Int’l to Albuquerque Int’l
July 12: Miami Int’l to Cecil (FL) Field
We know what you want to ask so we’ll just go ahead and ask it for you—has old T.bag Cruise been on board for any of these Boeing joy rides? Ordinarily, we’d say no; he typically prefers quiet evenings at home spent crocheting and staring in full length mirrors while asking himself questions like “He said I don’t like black people? I Am Mr. Black People!” However, Tommy Boy may very well have jumped on the Scientology Bus (or plane, as it were), because these days Jerry Maguire’s got a lot to be thankful for, and we’re not talking about his third-party conceived child. Please. We’re talking about vindication. Sweet, sweet vindication. Take it away, Hubbardington Post:
Sigmund Freud Concurs: Psychology is a “Pseudo-Science”
SAN FRANSISCO- In what can only be characterized as a shocking and largely unexpected open letter to Brooke Shields published in last Sunday’s New York Times, Dr. Sigmund Freud—a longtime proponent of psychology—used 1,873 words to tell the actress “it’s all just a bunch of crap.”

Shields, who gave birth in 2003 to daughter Rowan, with husband Chris Henchy, went on record last year saying that she had taken the drug Paxil to treat her postpartum depression. The actress’s decision to pop pills came to a boil in June 2005 when Katie Holmes’s employer Tom Cruise told Matt Lauer that he’s “…never agreed with psychiatry, ever. Before I was a Scientologist I never agreed with psychiatry. And when I started studying the history of psychiatry, I understood more and more why I didn’t believe in psychology… [And] the thing that I’m saying about Brooke is that there’s misinformation, okay? And she doesn’t understand the history of psychiatry. She doesn’t understand in the same way that you don’t understand it, Matt…Matt. Matt, Matt, you don’t even—you’re glib. You don’t even know what Ritalin is.”
Shields then fired back on The View, telling Star Jones, via a game of what was apparently Charades that Cruise belonged in a straitjacket, by folding her arms across her chest to simulate the act of being in a such a long-sleeved jacket-like garment—which Jones struggled to identify until Shields held up two fingers, with her palm facing the panel of guessers to indicate “two words,” and then held up one finger, to indicate “first word,” and pointed to a picture of Clay Aiken and shook her head. For her part, Shields did not actually know that in the circle that Cruise moves in, to “straitjacket” someone is actually to perform a rather complicated sex-act having do with wrapping one’s arms around the other person so as to simulate being in a straitjacket, which might explain why the actor was so upset about Shields’s allegation that he should be in such a position, as it is very controversial.
Dr. Freud, who had been keeping up with the Hollywood spat religiously from his home in the Bay Area, offered that he did not come forth with his newfound perspective sooner because he “didn’t want to be seen as taking sides with that gigantic douche bag,” who, “psychology or no psychology, is fucking insane, and obviously a major h-mo—it takes one to know one, people.”
“But,” Freud impassionedly wrote, “I felt that, at this point in my life, to not come forward with the truth about who I really am and what I really think would to, and I don’t mean to sound salacious about this, but it would be to ‘pull a Tom’—literally and figuratively. And let’s be frank, I know where that boy’s been and that’s nothing I want to be tugging at.”
Addressing Shields, he professed, “Listen, Brooke, what happened was, you know, I had just finished college, I was unemployed, I was living with my parents, and I just woke up one day and was like, ‘I cannot do this anymore, I just can’t.’ And just for clarity sake, it’s not that I was blaming anyone for the circumstances of my life—in fact, it was my parents who said, ‘Sigie’—that’s what they called me—‘Sigie, you should really think about law school. What are you going to do with a B.A.? With a law degree, you can start your own practice, or go to work for Uncle Morty’s firm, you can get married, maybe give us some grandchildren…’ So, you see, it really wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. And I just sat there thinking, ‘I cannot live in a basement anymore, I will just go crazy, I really will.’ For one, I was sleeping on a pull-out couch, next to my mom’s Canasta table, which was pathetic, in and of itself, and two, I just could not for the life of me end one more date with, ‘Well, I’d ask you to come inside, but I don’t want to wake up the ‘rents.’ It was just totally humiliating, not to mention a real cock-block.”
“So I made up some garbage about the id and the ego, and defense mechanisms, and the phallic stage and the anal stage—you know, real bull shit, and, as it turned out, people kind of just went with it, and before I knew it, I was not only out of my parents’ house but I was making a truckload of money and scoring some major tail, as well, and it was kind of like, ‘Ok, cool.’ It pretty much took on a life of its own from there and I’m not going to lie to you, the fame kind of went to my head for a pretty long time, until this one night in the ‘80s—the 1880’s—when I found myself in the penthouse of this really hot piece of ass and just as we’re really getting into it, I go to him, ‘Tell me about your phallic stage—now!’ which he of course thought was just my way of talking dirty but actually I was dead serious—I was ‘playing the psychologist’ as someone in my line of work might say—and I just absolutely refused to do anything until he would give me all the gory details, which, of course, he wouldn’t do, and he ended up leaving and I was left by myself to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s—Chubby Hubby I think it was, but who can remember—and watch an episode of "Bawdy Boys"—which was kind an early-day equivalent of “Queer As Folk” but with better plotlines. Anyway, it was just a mess. And then, a couple months later, I found myself in the exact same situation, save for the fact that I said ‘Tell me about your anal stage—now!’ which this other guy actually interpreted in the exact same way and, unfortunately for me, reacted pretty similarly, like got angry and stuff except he was a little more hedonistic so that night didn’t turn out to be a total bust, but I did wake up the next morning thinking, ‘God, what the hell is wrong with me?’ At that point I really forced myself to take a step back and realize all the shit that had gone down in the past twenty years and how I had just totally become this big fat fraud. I was Freud the Fraud. It was sickening.”
Dr. Freud then moved on to say that as much as he “hates publicity-hungry little—and I mean really little—sycophants,” and posit that “even after a few roofie-cocktails,” Eyes Wide Shut “still completely blew,” he could not, “in good conscience” continue to let Shields—who he noted “was so erotically delicious in Endless Love” that he “nearly almost switched teams”—continue to believe that “a money-making scheme” he devised “after four or five bong-hits and without been laid in almost two years” was actually anything to take seriously.
Freud concluded by saying that he hoped this little “bump in the road” wouldn’t “you know, cause any bad blood” between he and the actress, and offered that “for my money, it doesn’t get much better than seeing you and Kathy Griffin go head to head in my all-time favorite guilty pleasure—a night of Suddenly Susan reruns, a pint of Cherry Garcia, and a hot little Jon Stewart-type.”
Representatives for Ms. Shields could not be reached for comment; representatives for Mr. Cruise denied allegations that he is gay.