George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He lay on his therapist’s couch, crying and rambling about all his problems.
Then, he realized that he’d looted the couch from his therapist’s office, and he was on the deck of his ship, rambling to the rain and the winds.
George shrugged. It wasn’t any less helpful that when he’d cried and rambled to his therapist.
He’d gotten pissed off at the waste of time and stolen the couch out of spite.
“And how does that make you feel?” George imagined the therapist saying.
“Good,” said George, smiling.