Satan: His Psychotherapy and Cure by the Unfortunate Dr. Kassler, J.S.P.S.
Jeremy Leven
Language: English
Pages: 330
ISBN: 1533446024
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Alas, poor Satan. He’s not happy. No one seems to like or understand him; people have got him all wrong. And his relationship with God is a hostile one. Unloved and misunderstood, he’s come back to Earth in search of a psychotherapist; he’s prepared— if cured— to deliver the all-important Great Answer.
In Jeremy Leven’s wildly original comic novel, we follow the Prince of Darkness through his seven amazing therapy sessions. And we watch him grow increasingly well adjusted while his therapist, the unfortunate Dr. Kassler, descends deeper and deeper into hell.
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know,” Marty finished his beverage and looked up at Kassler. “You tell me.” Juicy was hardly the word for it. Doris Huber hosed down the courtroom with a flood of saturating revelations. “That was a very moving statement you gave this morning,” she began Kassler’s cross-examination. “I was particularly impressed by the tremendous burden you were forced to carry because Ms. Kassler was unwilling to care for her children. Tell me, did you ever talk to her about it?” “How do you mean?” Kassler
if you obtained custody, is that correct?” “Yes,” Kassler said despondently. Doris Huber walked over to a window and stared out of it for a few seconds, waiting for the proper moment to spring the next question. Kassler knew what it was and looked angrily over at Marty Myers, who also knew the next question and avoided Kassler’s stare. “Dr. Kassler,” Huber turned from the window, “could you tell the court whether or not it’s true that for a number of years, until recently, your present wife,
of him, going deeper each time, faster, until finally he lifted his finger to his lips, wet it with saliva, and, holding Vita to him by the finger inserted into her bottom, pounded frantically until he exploded with great intensity inside the most spectacular girl he’d ever seen. “I don’t believe it,” Vita said as she rested beside Kassler. “I just don’t believe it. That was some performance. I feel like a French horn must feel after a lot of Mozart. I had no idea people could be played like
Satan. Do you have any idea what that means? For three sessions now you’ve been sitting there, puffing on your pipe, scratching notes, cleaning your glasses, while I make jokes and you make snappy retorts. I’m very insulted. I picked you special. You’re a big disappointment to me, Kassler. You’d never get away with this with your other patients. You don’t take me seriously and it’s beginning to bother me.” “Attribute it to my pervasive atheism,” Kassler said coldly. “You expect me to believe
would arbitrate, pointing out that the patient did indeed need to be readied for his new life in the community, but perhaps not so quickly as Bernie Kohler desired. “We must build on the patient’s strengths,” Bea Chaikin would repeat calmly to Kassler and Kohler. “What strengths?” Kassler would ask as he leafed through several hundred pages that documented a human life consisting exclusively in staring at walls painted institutional green. “We all have strengths, if anyone’s interested in