My wife’s boyfriend’s son came by and picked me up from the psyche ward this morning.
She and her boyfriend got back from the Bahamas last night, so she called to check in on me, and when they told her about my ‘therapy sessions’, she lost her cool. Spilled the beans. Ratted me out.
They weren’t going to let me out until she also pointed out that they had me in the wrong wing of the hospital. They assumed my gender, what with my still having a penis and all. My wife threatened to sue them if they didn’t release me immediately. Doctor Phataphais managed to stall until this morning. Mostly because his character, a dwarf named Beardo “Big Swinging” Richards wanted a second crack at the owlbear cave. He was convinced there was a huge treasure in there – enough to put him over the line for level 3.
So it looks like I’m back to gaming at the local Faggy Local Gayming Store.
Ooo, that felt good, saying that. Maybe old E. Reagan Wright is all better after all.
Say, I also have no desire to wear makeup, take hormones, dye my hair different colors, or listen to Gavin MacInnes. I don’t feel like a woman at all. I guess they cured my gender dysphoria while they were curing whatever short circuited in my old brain-case, too.
Shame, really. That’s going to hurt my chances of winning a 2018 Hugo Award for my brilliant, kind-of-but-not-really-sci-fi short story, Hugo Bait.