The office was full of pictures of a short, bald man standing next to his victims- mostly dead deer. I had passed other rooms on my way to this one, and their walls were covered with pictures of family and smiling patients.

I know everyone in Hollywood is insane but my doctor graduated from a school of psychiatrists that brought irony to the party.

Overwhelmed, I sat down.

The short man from the pictures glided into the room.

“Hey there I’m Dr. Death.” he said.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Not a fan of humor?” he asked.

I was, he just wasn’t funny. I didn’t say anything.

“Okay, let’s start over. You hungry? I have some deer salami that I made myself.”

That didn’t sound very appetizing. I decided to level with him before he offered me anything else.

“Look doc, I’m just here for some Prozac.”

“You know that’s addictive, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“If I give you Prozac, do you think you could become a little more industrious, maybe do me a favor?”

“Like what?”

“You ever been deer hunting?”