Disclaimer & Caveat: For Entertainment Purposes Only
con't: Pt.1 ENTERTAINMENT GONE WILD!
                                                                           

(New words and definitions by Sadie Sheafe)
Pseudorapy - Pseudo-therapy: (sōō′dō - er′ə pē)
By design, a sham; false; spurious; counterfeit treatment of mental disease or of any mental disorder
To treat cerebral disease by charlatan mental counsel or synthetic hypothesis

A. To impart counterfeit or spurious data
B. Faux therapy; bogus expertise disguised as closely or deceptively similar to being authentic (pseudocounseling)
C. Nonsensical advice made in imitation of some genuine opinion so as to calculatingly deceive or defraud; (counterfeit)

Etymology: ME < LL < Gr pseudo-< pseudēs, false < pseudein, to deceive- ModL therapia< Gr therapeia< therapeuein, to nurse, cure
Noun pl.therapies -• pie

Pseudorapist - Pseudo-therapist :( sōō′dō - ther′ ə pist)
1. Counterfeit therapist; fictitious cerebral guide or counseling guru, often portrayed as an artificial prophet or disingenuous cult or religious leader, slapstick mentor, charlatan $4.99 a minute swindler; or shrink
2. An impostor; rogue, one who either knowingly or unknowingly bamboozles, has led astray or hoodwinks through counterfeit psychosomatic or psychoanalytical nonsense

A. Imitation analyst who imparts guidance not corresponding to reality; illusory suggestion (pseudoadvice)

B. One who imparts creative theories that closely resembles legitimate counsel as to mislead - usually conducted through television, radio or the internet and for the sole purpose of evaluating digital media activity and increasing stagnant ratings (pseudopsychoanalysis)

Ersatzseling - ersatz counseling (er zäts′səl • sel• ing-) (See above definitions)

Countervice - counterfeit advice (kount′ər • vīs′, əd-) (See above definitions)


It's just not fair. I just didn't know and no one told me. I could have saved hundreds-of-thousands of dollars in student loans and untold sleepless nights burning the midnight oil with books all over the bed while my husband hugged his pillow and snored, while sleeping soundly next to me. Sometimes I wanted to smother him with the blanket for looking so contented but since he weighs almost twice what I do, I figured he'd wake up before I could pull it off. When I would go to work at the hospital the following day on only five hours sleep, on a good night, and my co-workers talked about the latest and greatest show on television the night before, I had no idea what they were talking about and most times, I still don't; current events...what's that? Does that come on a show called "The News"? I was too busy studying to look or to listen. One time, for about six months, I was so focused on my studies that I actually forgot who was president...no kidding. I completely disagreed with his policies so it didn't really matter but it was still embarrassing. Any-who, it's just not fair. I missed out and I'm feelin' mighty, mighty cheated.

Why did I bother to go to a school of higher learning in the first place? I went to four years of college for my BS. I received grades of mostly A's; then I went through two more years of graduate work for my Masters degree. I got one 'B' and the rest were all A's; only God knows how many Continuing Education Units (CEU), licensing board exams, etc. I attended three different graduate schools before I eventually completed my Doctorate degree...all 'A's in the last school...yup...sho-nuf...straight 4.0! Then came the really hard part; that nerve-racking, intimidating, never-ending, mind-numbing dissertation; all for what?

I was so dedicated to not only passing but being the best that I told the President of one of my previous Universities that if this particular professor didn't change my one 'B' to an 'A', I would quit. This instructor challenged me on every turn. He really didn't like it when I hypothesized that Sigmund Freud, who happened to be a deity to him, had posits a number of theories regarding penis envy that I felt were unsound. Anyway, the university president thought I was kidding about quitting but I wasn't. I looked at it this way, after all, I deserved it; plus, I read some of the 'A' papers of my fellow students and there was no way I would accept or deserved that dreadful, appalling grade. My work was better! The professor refused to change it so I quit on the spot; on the spot! Why not? Prior to that catastrophic grade I was able to maintain a grade point average of 4.0; this was despite being half asleep at the wheel most weekends. After all, I was driving close to 200 miles every Saturday to go to class and then another 200 miles to get home that night. I also had a full case-load of patients during the week at the hospital (approximately 750 individuals annually) and I was raising teenagers at the same time. Heck no, I was outta that place that same day. After almost a year of driving every weekend I recruited one of my partners-in-crime who had two Master's degrees and had used every imaginable excuse to procrastinate enrolling for her Doctorate. After prodding, bribing, coercion, intimidation, nudging and finally what amounted to terrorist threats; she gave in and decided to enroll along with me.

To get her to acquiesce I was forced to humiliate myself by standing outside of her house with a homemade bomb of about 30 textbooks strapped to my chest and armor piercing bullets made of Hi-Liters and White-Out in the clip of a semi-automatic elephant gun with an arsenal of educational material and course work in the trunk of my High- Mobility-Multipurpose-Wheeled-Vehicle (Humvee) that I deliberately drove over her garden's Azaleas and Rhododendrons and directly up to her door. When she recanted and accepted my benevolent offer I nominated her, from then on, to drive the 400 round trip miles while I slept!

What really pisses me off is the over 100 books that I read prior to writing my dissertation. I was reading five books at a time and I never had less than three in my hand or in my purse, which now began to resemble a Samsonite luggage for an overseas flight. All of the employees knew me so well in Barnes and Nobles and Books-A-Million that even the cleaning crew started calling me by name and I never told them what my name was. "Hi Sadie, well I see you're back again?" These book stores were sending me so many discount-book-cards that I made up my mind that if this therapy thing didn't work out I could sell them on Craig's List, Amazon or EBay at a slight mark up and support myself for at least nine months while I found work.

Anyway, my point is that I now know that none of this was necessary. The sleepless nights...the wear and tear on my vehicle...the endless reading...the suitcase that was slightly larger than me and most of all, the enormous student loans that look like a stimulus package for most small countries. I didn't know until recently that if I wanted to be a Psychologist, Psychotherapist, Clinical Sexologist or Clinical Social Worker all I had to do was simply become a radio disc jockey right after high school...no books...no loans...no clinicals, and best of all, no experience necessary!

Think about it. I would have made more money than I make now, that's for sure; I could have flirted with fame especially if I was in a large city or at least local prominence in a small southern town; I could have had the opportunity to listen to my favorite musical artists in-between dishing out advice and I could have moonlighted as a night club jock to pick up extra cash on the weekends. Maybe I would have even had an opportunity to MC a rap concert when it came to town or host an after party at the local nightclub. Right now there could be autographed pictures of me standing next to 50cent, Jay-Z or Lil Wayne hanging in my living room, and instead of writing this or any other article for that matter, I would be speaking on the radio each night in a sexy-seductive tone of voice and would have renamed myself something like: Tasty Cinnamon, Sadie's Cotton Candy Show, Champagne Honey Dew, The Butter Sadie's Biscuit Show, Sadie's Thick Brown Gravy or something that would have only required for part time work, a floor-to-ceiling pole, some 6" stilettos and the ability to bend in almost the same position as an NFL lineman waiting for the snap while clapping my derriere. Even better I could have continued dishing out expert advice to my co-workers, fellow entertainers and our dollar-throwing client population!!! God knows everyone in that setting certainly must need advice.

"Good evening ladies and gents. This is the midnight love line on Kiss 300. I'm Brown-Sugar-Pumpkin-Crème Sadie...100 percent all burnin' steam...oohhh...cap-tin of the ladies team and every man's dream. This is your radio station for sound advice on all matters of love and relationships. I'm the expert...trust me, I loves 'em and I leaves 'em quicker than you can count to two. Call now and talk to me suga... Brown-Sugar-Pumpkin-Crème Sadie is here to answer all your love questions!!! WOW, WHAT A LIFE!!! But most of all I guarantee there would be people that would actually follow my advice...and THEREIN LAYS TRAGEDY!!!

Therein lays the reason for this article. See I never wanted to write this. I was going to let it go. As a matter of fact I have let it go for years. I decided that when I get in my vehicle in the morning on the way in to the hospital and again on the way home or to my private practice, I would simply put a CD in the player and refuse to listen to these pseudorapists. Sometimes I cringe at the advice!

I have quite a few well-known celebrity clients that live in various parts of the US, like Hollywood, Aspen, Brooklyn, Chicago and Manhattan. They have been using my telephone counseling services each week for years. Ironically the first well known celebrity came to me in 2002 because of bad advice they received from a very well known celebrity doctor who isn't really a mental health doctor…but that's another story, anyway, I've spoken with a number of these individuals concerning this issue and was told by a few of my California clients that in Hollywood, faux mental health professional are on every corner; well they also seem to be on most radio stations throughout the US also. Discs jockeys and stand up comics offering anything but common-sense-advice can be quite dangerous. Everyone can offer commonsense advice it they've lived long enough, just keep it lite…real lite and base is ONLY on commonsense! In part two of this article (coming soon I just have to make time to write it) I'll give you specific examples of different individuals I've treated in therapy that took bad advice from their local DJ's or stand up comics turned therapist and the results they experienced!

I look forward to hearing from you and welcome your feedback and discussion.

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