Shakey went to a psychiatrist. “Doc,” he said, “I’ve got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I think there`s somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there`s somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. . . you gotta help me, I`m going crazy!”
“Just put yourself in my hands for two years,” said the shrink. “Come to me three times a week, and I`ll cure your fears.”
“How much do you charge?”
“A hundred dollars per visit.”
“I`ll sleep on it,” said Shakey.
Six months later the doctor met Shakey on the street.
“Why didn`t you ever come to see me again?” asked the psychiatrist.
“For a hundred buck`s a visit? A bartender cured me for ten dollars.”
“Is that so! How?”
“He told me to cut the legs off the bed!”