Sadism at Its Best (Gender Identity Pluralized, to Protect the Guilty—And Maybe, with a Little Luck, to Guilt the Innocent)

Don’t ever go to therapy if something’s wrong with you;
Not even doctor’s orders—you’ll be sorry if you do.
Cuz the therapists, they’ll torture you and rearrange your joints;
As they yank and twist your sundry limbs, your screaming earns them points
In a friendly competition that they have with one another—
If from one arm you don’t shriek enough, they’ll beat up on the other.

And they’re very, very subtle; I was sure I heard them say,
“Let’s start out with distraction…” which is just their sneaky way
To make me just imagine I was comfy on my couch,
Relaxing, sipping tea, enjoying Bach, and almost—OUCH!!—
When they yanked my shoulder from its socket, then (as gently) back;
They’d sure have had a ball with that contraption called “the rack.”

Then I KNOW I heard them say that they’d massage my arms and wrists—
Which only proves the fact they’re bona fide “massage-o-nists”.
And when you think you’ve had enough, they pull this final ruse:
Exercises, all designed to torment and abuse.
But…to con you into doing them at home’s their highest aim—
Cuz if they trick you into torturing yourself…well then, that’s game.

                                                                           —Anon A. Masochis’ed