Psychiatrist Jokes / Recent Jokes
A blonde is speaking to her psychiatrist.
"I'm on the road a lot, and my clients are complaining that they can never reach me."
Psychiatrist: "Don't you have a phone in your car?"
Blonde: "That was a little too expensive, so I did the next best thing. I put a mailbox in my car."
Psychiatrist: "Uh. .. How's that working?"
Blonde: "Actually, I haven't gotten any letters yet."
Psychiatrist: "And why do you think that is?"
Blonde: "I figure it's because when I'm driving around, my zip code keeps changing."
A blonde is speaking to her psychiatrist.
“I’m on the road a lot, and my clients are complaining that they can never reach me. ”
Psychiatrist: “Don’t you have a phone in your car? ”
Blonde: “That was a little too expensive, so I did the next best thing. I put a mailbox in my car. ”
Psychiatrist: “Uh … How’s that working? ”
Blonde: “Actually, I haven’t gotten any letters yet. ”
Psychiatrist: “And why do you think that is? ”
Blonde: “I figure it’s because when I’m driving around, my zip code keeps changing. ”
A psychiatrist met a friend and exclaimed, "I heard you died." "But you see I'm alive, " smiled the friend. "Impossible," said the psychiatrist. "The man who told me is much more reliable than you."
A man walks in to a psychiatrists office wearing nothing but saran wrap wrapped around his naked body.
The psychiatrist took one look at him and said, Clearly, I can see your nuts.
A blonde is speaking to her psychiatrist: "I'm on the road a lot, and my clients are complaining that they can never reach me."
Psychiatrist: "Don't you have a phone in your car?"
Blonde: "That was a little too expensive, so I did the next best thing. I put a mailbox in my car."
Psychiatrist: "Uh. .. How's that working?"
Blonde: "Actually, I haven't gotten any letters yet."
Psychiatrist: "And why do you think that is?"
Blonde: "I figure it's because when I'm driving around, my zip code keeps changing."
I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous - everyone hasn't met me yet.
Santa went to a psychiatrist. "Doc," he said, "I've got trouble. Every time I get into bed, I get this weird feeling that there's somebody under it. I get under the bed, to check it out, but then I think there's somebody on top of it. I go back and forth, all night long, on top, under, on 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," said Santa.
Six months later the doctor met Santa on the street.
"Why didn't you ever come to see me again?" asked the psychiatrist.
"For a hundred bucks a visit? A bartender cured me for ten dollars."
"Is that so! How did he do that?"
"He told me to cut the legs off the bed!"