Our subject today has just gone to a psychiatrist. "Doc," said he, "I've got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I think there's somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there's somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. You 'gotta help me, Doc, I'm going crazy!"
"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said the shrink. "Come to me three times a week, and I'll cure your fears."
"How much do you charge?"
"A hundred dollars per visit."
"I'll sleep on it," came the reply.
Six months later the doctor met the same fellow on the street.
"Why didn't you ever come to see me again?" asked the psychiatrist.
"Ha! For a hundred bucks a visit? A barkeep cured me for ten bucks."
"Oh? Is that so; How?"
"He told me to cut the legs off the bed ... "