These are the psychological profiles and medical records of the patients of Doctor Ignatius Wackoh, PHD.
His therapy methods are a bit ... unusual to say the least. If he had even a slight clue what he was doing, he might be somewhere close to the accepted treatments of mental illness. He's a complete fake, and pretty much nuts himself, so you can imagine what type of patients come through his door.
The phone buzzed again, and Dr.Ignatious Wackoh jumped. He had just told his secretary to send in the next patient, and the phone was still buzzing. Phones shouldn't buzz, they should ring. His head felt foggy, he couldn't think, he shook his head and awoke with a snort. He had been snoring, and he was still waiting for his next patient.
A beautiful woman in a long white gown edged herself into the room and caught her wings in the door as she tried to close it.
She wrenched her wing out of the door, and slammed it, losing some feathers on the way. He looked at his watch, wondering how close it was to Halloween. He watched her cross the room to the couch, muttering to herself on the wa
"Freakin' self closing door!"
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't heard language like that since he coached the local community girls' basketball team.
" I'm an angel." She declared.
"Okaaay ... " Dr. Wackoh nodded. He wasn't one to make judgements on angels who swore like sailors.
"I have Tourette Syndrome," she said as she tried to adjust her wings comfortably. "I swear a lot. My boss doesn't like it much."
"Okay, " he said agreeably, as he tried to enter the word into his laptop. " How do you spell that?"
He kept getting pages saying NO MATCH FOUND. finally, his laptop went all neurotic and just flashed sounds and colours at him.
"It doesn't matter, you're too stupid to understand what I'm going through, anyway," she said irritably.
" Tourette Syndrome," she began , rolling her eyes, and twitching, " is a neurological disorder characterized by repetitive involuntary movements and vocalization called tics. These tics could include eye blinking, shoulder shrugging, facial grimacing, punching oneself in the face, or uttering swear words. Either that or I'm possessed by the devil," she said and made a lunge at his head.
She tripped on her wings, tried to fold them up, rolling from side to side, feathers flying everywhere, swearing her head off. By this time he had jumped out of his chair, picked it up and held it in front of himself like a lion tamer.
"Stop, stop, stop stop!" he screamed.
Then he felt the splash of cold water in his face. His secretary stood in front of him with an empty water glass as he faced her holding his chair in front of him.
"You're hallucinating again," she said disgustedly, as she blew at a feather that was tickling her nose. "You should get your medication changed."