Dear Howie,

I was dropped off here two weeks ago thinking that I was just depressed.  Now, I have been diagnosed as an obsessive/compulsive, tripolar, codependent, sexual anorexic, sneaker sniffer.  Yes, it was finally time to reveal my fetish with the sweet, pungent aroma of sweaty sneakers.  To my utter surprise I am not alone.  There are three other sneaker sniffers here, and we have formed SSA - Sneaker Sniffers Anonymous.

Step One - We admitted that we were powerless to stop sniffing sneakers, and that our lives and hair had become unmanageable.

I feel so at peace since I "let go" and turned my fetish over to my Higher Power - Conway Twitty.  Most importantly, I am getting in touch with my "inner child" and my Aunt Gertrude, whom I haven't spoken to in ten years.

The other patients here are an ecclesiastic mix of philistines, sodomites, bulimic bureaucrats, and alcoholic academics.  We are all bound together in our common goal of Recovery, and industrial-strength, nylon rope.

The message here is "Hope," "Self-Love," "Forgiveness," and "You have five minutes to have your bill paid in full or we wrap you in aluiminum foil like a giant baked potato, and leave you in the desert."

My stay here has inspired me to compose some affirmations:

1)  I have a right to make my own mistakes and blame others.

2)  The better I am to myself, the less time I will have to be better toward others.

3)  My Higher Power speaks to me lovingly in Japanese.

4)  Every experience I have in life, especially the unpleasant ones, contributes to my learning, growth, and gray pubic hair.

5)  I have a right to reserve my parking spot in this world.

Upon my release, I will break into and enter your primary residence.

                                                                                              Your best friend,

                                                                                              Booker T. Blumenthal