Satan: His Psychotherapy and Cure by the Unfortunate Dr. Kassler, J.S.P.S.
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Alas, poor Satan. He’s not happy. No one seems to like or understand him; people have got him all wrong. And his relationship with God is a hostile one. Unloved and misunderstood, he’s come back to Earth in search of a psychotherapist; he’s prepared— if cured— to deliver the all-important Great Answer.
In Jeremy Leven’s wildly original comic novel, we follow the Prince of Darkness through his seven amazing therapy sessions. And we watch him grow increasingly well adjusted while his therapist, the unfortunate Dr. Kassler, descends deeper and deeper into hell.
stiff drink or two, pulled down his outdoorsy books, and leafed through them until he came to simple directions for tying a noose. Being bright and a former scout, Bernie Kohler acquired the necessary skill, using a clothesline, in no time at all. A pipe from the heating system ran propitiously across the ceiling. Bernie stood on a chair, tied the noose to the bar, and imagined what it would be like when Kassler finally appeared. Kassler arrived a half-hour after this, jumped his new Mercedes
overwhelming feeling. Lupa’s confession had convinced him of the ultimate futility of his life. He detected none of her caring and affection for him. The only thought that rumbled around Kassler’s brain, such as it was at that time, was that not only hadn’t he formed an eternal union with the young beautiful girl of his dreams in a mutual state of ultimate love and immaculate bliss, but he had married a whore. By this time Kassler was, of course, only a hair’s breadth away from determining to
Kassler repeated. “Yes, I was. And it’s a hurt I may never get over. But I have maintained my dignity. I have held my glory.” “And still we prefer to align ourselves with God,” Kassler pointed out. “Is this resistance to accepting responsibility for our impulses?” “I don’t know why it is,” I shouted. “I only know that it’s a terrible mistake. If you need to have someone by your side with power and glory and dignity—” I paused to think over exactly how to say what I wanted. Kassler was still
one of the most exclusive sections of Citadel. Szlyck’s classical passions had induced him to construct, on a cliff overlooking the town’s vast network of ditches, a nearly full-scale imitation of a great Italian Renaissance house, which had itself once been an imitation of a great Greek house. He gave the name “Bolgia” to his, you should pardon Szlyck’s other designation, Roman á cliff. Lupa was not impressed. By the imposing palazzo or by its owner. “You may be able to handle it,” she told
going now, don’t you think?” “Boobs are bigger,” Kassler mumbled to himself. “Hold on, Sy,” Lupa held fast to one of Kassler’s arms, Charon to the other. “We’ll be outside in just a few minutes and they’ll all be covered with blouses and sweaters. You’ll feel a lot better.” “A woman’s vagina is not what you think it is,” Kassler moved on to new anatomical horizons. Lupa studied Kassler beside her. Then she turned to Charon. “We’ve got an emergency,” she told Charon. “A vagina is a very