My therapist stared at me like a zombie

And she forgot my boyfriend's name!

By Cary Tennis
Published February 7, 2002 3:30PM (EST)

Steeped in the rough-and-tumble spoken-word movement, boiled in punk rock, roasted in alcohol, pressure-cooked in American literature and turned like a newel post on the lathe of American journalism, Cary Tennis preaches his strange, twisted sermons for Salon Audio pretty much every week.

This week, in his role as Salon's advice columnist, he considers the options available to someone who has completely had it with men, therapists, America, Christianity, Western civilization and the Milky Way galaxy.

For broadcast or other reuse, contact Adrienne Crew.

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