The World’s on Fire“—But First, Let’s Talk About My Clitoris.”

Today, we’re taking a hard left turn, kids.

Forget the gloom. Forget the doom. Forget the fact that Trump is still out there dry-humping democracy.

Let’s talk about something more uplifting—like sex.

Or more specifically, how bad it can be when you mix it with therapy and a guy named Sid.

BTW: R Rated.

Scene Setup:

We’re in Sid Rosenthal’s office.

It’s barely 9 AM, but Sid’s already working the phone for an early tee time—because nothing screams mental health professional like ducking out before noon.

Zee’s slouched in his cracked leather chair, chain-smoking, legs draped over the arm like she owns the joint.

The air’s thick with old coffee, burnt nicotine, and bad decisions.

Sid thinks they’re here to discuss her “emotional blockage.”

Zee’s got other plans.

Scene begins:

Sid: What’s the problem, Zee?

Zee: I can’t have an orgasm.

Sid: And you made an appointment with your psychiatrist? Do I look like I moonlight as a gynecologist?

Zee: Oh, not a chance. We’ve had sex, Sid. You don’t even know where the G spot is. And the whole clitoris stimulation thing? Total mystery to you.

Sid: Did you come here just to humiliate me, or is there an actual psychiatric issue buried in there somewhere?

Zee: I came here to get laid.

Sid: So… you tell me I’m a horrible piece of ass, and now you want sex?

Zee: Sid, just get your pants off. We can unpack the transference thing after we fuck.

End of scene.