Sigmund, Carl and Alfred

(MHNN) Ann Arbor- Dr Patricia Mary Santy, former NASA fight surgeon and organic waste in space disposal specialist, has completed the world’s first inter species therapy program.

In an exclusive interview with MHNN, Santy relayed the amazing story of the soon to be published course of therapy and what prompted her to begin inter species therapy.

The interview with the author of the renowned Carnival Of The Insanities, is published in two parts. Part one, published by MHNN, can be found here.

Our conversation with Dr Sanity from her spacious cubicle at the University of Michigan Ralph Nader/Lyndon Larouche Mental Health Center continues:

MHNN: Rumors abound that one your simian therapy patients considered running in the upcoming election. Is that true?

PMS: Incredibly, yes. The patient hailed from the jungle of Vietnam’s interior. His point was that if John Kerry a visitor to Vietnam could run for office, so could he.

MHNN: But that’s crazy! You have to be a citizen to run for President.

PMS: Of course. The issue goes much deeper. My simian patient believed he was a victim of ‘human privilege.’ It was his belief that since simians do not recognize human boundaries, he should be excluded from those rules. James Carville, his campaign manager, has overseen campaign ads to that effect. Mr Carville has also produced ads that address simian behavior head on.

MHNN: What do you mean?

PMS: Well, strong male simians usually kill their rivals offspring, so that they might mate with the harem of females. Carville and the leadership of NOW prefer to refer those killings as post partum abortions.

MHNN: That’s insane! What is to prevent any killing of a child, post partum, an abortion?

PMS: Well, that is one 0f the issues I had to deal with in my therapy sessions with the simian patient. As I noted earlier (last week- ed) the case isn’t as simple as it appears. The proponents of the Great Ape Project make clear their belief that apes and other simians ought to be afforded Human Rights because of our close relationship to them. What they do not take into account is the reality that all species on earth are related. What distinguishes us originates and remain in our differences. They are

MHNN: What does that mean?

PMS: It means that there will be an attempt by some to accept and legitimize animal behavior as being appropriate for some humans. Post partum abortions are one such example. Carville and NOW president Kim Gandy (no, not related to that Gandhi) were emphatic in our meetings that the position they are staking be taken seriously. They reminded me that my simian patient was in Vietnam, a socialist nation with a long history of oppression and thus his ideas had real credibility.

MHNN: OK, so what would happen if we gave simians the rights they, NOW and Carville are demanding?

PMS: The consequences are huge. As we speak, Carville and company are lobbying both Houses of Congress to make banana handouts a permanent feature of our culture. There are demands for socialized veterinary care and a demand that Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, be arrested and tried at the Hague for war crimes.

MHNN: What are other implications?

PMS: There are too many to contemplate. The sex industry is looking to repeal laws that criminalize bestiality. The Simians for Justice want to award John Kerry Vietnamese citizenship. They are also demanding that more federal funds be spent on their welfare. There is a committee of simians on their way to Capital Hill to demand that our southern border be closed because Mexican illegal immigrants are using the lions  monkey’s share of federal and state funds, thus depriving the simians of their due. Another simmering issue is that of plantain allocation. That has the potential to get out of control, fast.

MHNN: What are we to do?

PMS: Well, there isn’t much we can do. Carville is handing our free bananas and Pelosi is leaning toward giving simians the right to vote. That may backfire because a lot of the simians are pretty pleased that the Dems endorsed Bush with the chimp thing. That has Carville worried. He has started a quiet campaign to refer to the Democrat candidate for the presidency as Ape in Charge. There are also rumors that Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid will appear in campaign commercials dressed as apes, recalling the Planet of the Apes movies. I hear Reid is insisting that 78,000 acres in the Nevada desert that belong to a long time friend and employer of his son, be purchased for filming the commercials.

MHNN: Our time is up for now, Dr Sanity. Thank you for this frank and open discussion.

PMS: Of course.

MHNN: It seems we’re about to enter a brave new world.

PMS: We are.

MHNN: I think I’ll visit Carnival Of The Insanities. That always makes me feel more human.

PMS: don’t say that, or you’ll be labeled a bigot.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Although we’ve been apart for quite awhile now, celebrating Mother’s Day has always been a special day for me.

Last week, HRH (Her Royal Highness) asked that I write you a Mother’s Day card. Inasmuch as she has me wrapped around her little finger, I agreed.

We may be divorced now, but whenever I look at our daughter, I know marrying you was no mistake. You turned out to be the mother I knew you’d be, and then some. Our daughter is testimony to that. She would not now be the beautiful young lady she is had it not been for you.

Every Mother’s Day, I think back to the day HRH was born.

Your mother was visiting (that’s what you said. I said she had moved in with us. A six month stay is not a ‘visit.’ It is permanent residency), hovering over you as if you were a porcelain doll (that ate like Shamu), waiting for her debut as ‘grandmother.’ We joked about how, as soon as HRH was born, your mother would announce, ‘I’m ready for my close-up now, Mr Demille.’

Just after midnight, you got out of bed, and less than a minute later, called out, ‘I think it’s time.’ or something to that effect, followed up with drill sergeant orders barked out to your mother in the Slavic language of your forefathers. The tone and speed of those remarks scared the hell out of me. Then and there I promised myself I would finish every kilogram of the Eastern European potato, cheese, cream, buttermilk, pastries, bacon and other delights made with chicken fat, beef fat, pork fat and lord knows what other fats you heaped on my plate, excavated in copious amounts from that bottomless blue speckled pot. You had never taken that tone of voice with me- and I didn’t want to give you reason to change that.

With those few short sentences barked out in a foreign language, you went from being my wind tossed gentle flower, to a flaming cactus, fired from a long range artillery gun on HMS Illustrious.

I don’t recall the drive to the hospital, save for you telling me to slow down. I do remember pulling up to the ER entrance and being met by a nurse with a wheelchair. After helping you get situated in the chair, the nurse firmly informed me that I was responsible for parking the car, not her. She would do the wheelchair pushing unattended by me, having pushed many a wheelchair in her day.

I parked the car. Twice in the span of an hour I had heard the voice- yours and that of Nurse Ratchett.

I did all the things first time dads do during labor. I stayed with you for 20 to 30 minutes at a time, then went down the hall to the vending machines. There was no shortage of industrial pastry wrapped in cellophane to buy (color blind people cannot distinguish the flavor between the ‘chocolate’ and the cream’ filling of industrial pastry. Yum). I walked around, paced and commiserated with the only other expectant father at the time. He was waiting on his fourth child, so he knew the drill. On his way down, he called in an order to a sandwich shop and picked up three large sandwiches, chips and pastry. He was engrossed in a magazine and he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. You have to admire guys with experience.

Just before 4:00 AM, the doctor announced it was time to go to the delivery room. I donned the blue gown and booties and tied my mask. I was scared, but I didn’t want to show it. I was afraid I wasn’t ready for the responsibility, afraid I’d screw up and afraid I’d run away. You must have been reading my mind because you told me not to worry, everything would be fine. I didn’t believe you, but I had enough sense not to argue.

HRH was born at 4:12 AM.

I remember standing to the side, out of the way. When HRH made her debut (and trumped your mother), I recall how quiet the room was, save for the medical equipment beeping away and HRH’s tiny cry. I remember looking at the doctor and nurse and saying, “I always believed in God. Now I know.”

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since that day.

While our marriage has dissolved, we have developed a friendship based on the shared desire we have in wanting nothing but the best for our daughter. When we knew we would be apart, we agreed that the best interest of HRH was in our best interest. We made it a point not to speak ill of each other in front of HRH and in fact, we never have. That was probably the best decision we ever made, together.

HRH is happy, confident and independent. I know we have each done the best we can to make that happen, but in fact, you were there every day to make sure things went smoothly (with my money. OK, OK, I’m kidding). That, and a bit of luck seems to have fallen our way.

We have gone our separate ways, of course. We have moved on, we have grown and we have learned, from our experiences and from our daughter. One thing is certain- how much poorer our lives would have been without her!

All in all, we’ve done pretty well in an imperfect world.

I wish you the best as always, and much happiness. May your table overflow with the potatoes, cheese, cream, buttermilk, pastry, bacon and other delights made with chicken fat, beef fat, pork fat, and lord knows what other fats that I no longer have to eat. I and my arteries are most grateful for that.

I’m in a good mood. What the heck, give my best to your mother and Mr Demille.

Happy Mother’s Day.