I'm Looking Out For You
The General was draped over his mahogany desk (imported from Switzerland) in the fugue of a headache. His top psychological warfare expert was melting in front of him, a mix of panic and heat clutching his throat. He'd occasionally check it for hands every few moments as the General gazed over him dissapointedly. "Don't just stand there like you're waiting to suck a cock. Tell me what you've got to say and get the fuck out of here." The warfare expert clicked his heels deferently and muffled out a "yes sir." He started to read from the paper shaking in his hands as if the General was the judge who held his life in his hands.
"Twenty-four year old female. Depressive-avoidant personality," he strained for breath. "Our initial analysis has surmised deep seated trauma resulting from the collapse of her parent's marriage." The General slunk back into his chair. He motioned him to continue. "She does not have a partner as she blames herself for the breakup, unconsciously. Avoids emotional attachments because of an abandonment complex due to these environmental circumstances. And that's the summary, sir." He clicked his heels again, as if he forgot to the first time. The General sat up, beads of sweat tunnelling up from the fever forming behind his eyes.
"God damn it man...I don't know what the taxpayers of this nation are paying you, but you've just gave me some bullshit explanation about the targets behavior that ain't worth half a shit." The General pondered his next thought carefully.
How the fuck do you know all this bullshit, anyhow?" The General's gazed pierced whatever courage the expert once had. His expertise was quickly being torn apart by it.
"Ahhh, a, psychoanalytic research..." He stammered.
"Research. Bull-fucking-shit soldier. Your research is as useful as a piece of dog shit on the side of the road. For all you know, she doesn't have a god-damn boyfriend because she doesn't want one. Don't you have friends of the opposite sex, soldier? Do you want to fuck them every time you lay eyes on them?" The General's eyes probed him. The expert shrugged. The General had lost his patience.
"Get the fuck out of my office, and come back with some fucking answers next time." Before the General could return his wagging finger to it's resting place underneath his mahogany desk (imported from Switzerland) the expert had turned and run, his Masters degree in psychology tucked like a tail behind his legs.
The General knew as much as he did, his explanation and that cocksucker's were two extremes with reality being somewhere in the middle. Resigned to failure, he surmised no matter how much they searched, they'd never find what they were both looking for, and would just have to be content with the information he had. Reality could wait.
"Twenty-four year old female. Depressive-avoidant personality," he strained for breath. "Our initial analysis has surmised deep seated trauma resulting from the collapse of her parent's marriage." The General slunk back into his chair. He motioned him to continue. "She does not have a partner as she blames herself for the breakup, unconsciously. Avoids emotional attachments because of an abandonment complex due to these environmental circumstances. And that's the summary, sir." He clicked his heels again, as if he forgot to the first time. The General sat up, beads of sweat tunnelling up from the fever forming behind his eyes.
"God damn it man...I don't know what the taxpayers of this nation are paying you, but you've just gave me some bullshit explanation about the targets behavior that ain't worth half a shit." The General pondered his next thought carefully.
How the fuck do you know all this bullshit, anyhow?" The General's gazed pierced whatever courage the expert once had. His expertise was quickly being torn apart by it.
"Ahhh, a, psychoanalytic research..." He stammered.
"Research. Bull-fucking-shit soldier. Your research is as useful as a piece of dog shit on the side of the road. For all you know, she doesn't have a god-damn boyfriend because she doesn't want one. Don't you have friends of the opposite sex, soldier? Do you want to fuck them every time you lay eyes on them?" The General's eyes probed him. The expert shrugged. The General had lost his patience.
"Get the fuck out of my office, and come back with some fucking answers next time." Before the General could return his wagging finger to it's resting place underneath his mahogany desk (imported from Switzerland) the expert had turned and run, his Masters degree in psychology tucked like a tail behind his legs.
The General knew as much as he did, his explanation and that cocksucker's were two extremes with reality being somewhere in the middle. Resigned to failure, he surmised no matter how much they searched, they'd never find what they were both looking for, and would just have to be content with the information he had. Reality could wait.