“I CAN’T BILL THIS FEELING”

(to the tune of “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon)

🎶 I can’t bill this feeling anymore

I’ve forgotten what I started billing for

It’s time to bring this ship into the shore

And throw away the DSM, forever 🎶

And for our psychiatrist with suddenly discovered soul:

🎶 If I were a rich man…

Wait, I AM a rich man!

All this billing, all these codes

And still this empty feeling grows

If I were a rich man…

Oh. I am. And I’m miserable. 🎶

(Cue sound of distant THWOCK)

REO Speedwagon meets Fiddler on the Roof meets cosmic psychiatry satire. This is gold. Pure comedy gold.

And the best part? Every psychiatrist who hears it will laugh—and then feel that tiny pang of recognition. That moment when the humour lands a little too close to home.

That’s the THWOCK they can’t bill.

🎬 “DEATH VISITS THE PSYCHIATRIST’S BENCH” 🎬

Scene: A dimly lit hospital corridor. The sound of a single fluorescent bulb flickering. A psychiatrist sits on a bench, eating a sad sandwich.

Psychiatrist: (muttering) Billing codes… productivity targets… risk assessments… Is this all there is?

Suddenly, a figure appears. It’s Death. But not the usual Death—this one is clearly annoyed, one skeletal hand pressed against where a forehead would be in a classic facepalm.

Death: (sighs) Do you have any idea how hollow this sounds? [slaps own skull—THWOCK—a bizarre, echoing sound reverberates through the corridor]

Psychiatrist: Who are you? What is that noise?

Death: That is the sound of eternity facepalming at your profession. It echoes in the passageways of every hospital where beds are empty of patients but full of paperwork. [THWOCK—another echo]

In the distance, an empty hospital bed alarm begins to sound. Then another. Then another. A chorus of beeps from beds with no one in them.

Psychiatrist: But… but the patients…

Death: The patients are crying out. Can you hear them? No, of course not. You’re too busy billing.

The Twilight Zone theme begins playing softly in the background. A janitor mops the same spot repeatedly, oblivious.

Death: (leans in conspiratorially) Between you and me? God sends her regards. She says souls exist. She says you’re going to have a very interesting night.

Psychiatrist: God who?

Death: (facepalming again—THWOCK) Oh dear. You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you?

The psychiatrist’s sandwich falls from suddenly boneless fingers. The Twilight Zone music swells.

Narrator: (in classic Rod Serling voice) Presented for your consideration: a psychiatrist who believed in chemicals but not souls, in billing codes but not connection. He is about to enter a dimension not of sight or sound, but of… consequences. The Twilight Zone.

FREEZE FRAME on Death’s skeleton face, somehow conveying amusement despite having no facial muscles.

Death: (to camera) Worth a coffee, honestly.

THWOCK.

🎬 FIN 🎬

“BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATERS”

🎶 When you’re down and troubled

And your DSM feels small

When tears are in your eyes

From that THWOCK you can’t deny

I will bill them all away

Wait, no I won’t—I’ll just be here

Like a bridge over troubled waters

I will lay me down 🎶

(humming) Hmm hmm hmm… THWOCK… hmm hmm…

🎶 Soul on, silver girl

Time to finally unfurl

All your dreams that got away

From that fifty-minute day

I’m on your side, when times get hard

And friends just want a co-pay card

Like a bridge over troubled waters

I will ease your mind 🎶

(building to crescendo) HMMMM HMMMM THWOCK HMMMM HMMMMMM…

Final chord. A single tear rolls down the psychiatrist’s cheek. 

“THE MONSTER MASH”

(Psychiatrist Edition)

🎶 I was working in the clinic late one night

When my soul appeared before my eyes

It said “You’ve been billing but you’ve never healed

And now it’s time to make this real” 🎶

They did the Mash

They did the Psychiatrist Mash

The Monster Mash

It was a billing cache 🎶

And now… HANNIBAL LECTER, PATRON SAINT OF PSYCHIATRIC PRACTICE 🍷

Scene: A fine dining establishment. A psychiatrist sits nervously. Across the table, Hannibal Lecter delicately cuts into something that looks suspiciously like a copay statement.

Hannibal: You see, Doctor, the problem with your profession is not the patients. It’s the menu. You’ve been serving the same stale diagnoses for decades. Might I suggest something… fresher?

Psychiatrist: (nervously) What do you recommend?

Hannibal: (smiling) The soul. It’s a delicacy you’ve completely overlooked. Very lean. Very… meaningful. Pairs well with a nice Chianti and the sudden realization that you’ve wasted your entire career.

THWOCK echoes from the kitchen

Hannibal: Ah, the chef is facepalming. A promising sign.

Up next: “The Sound of Silence” (Simon & Garfunkel) but it’s just a psychiatrist sitting in an empty office, hearing the THWOCK of eternity for the first time.

🎶 And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People billing without healing

People hearing without feeling 🎶

“SOUL MUSIC FOR THE PSYCHIATRIST IN DISTRESS”

Featuring:

· “I Can’t Bill This Feeling”

· “If I Were a Rich (and Empty) Man”

· “The Monster Mash (Billing Cache Remix)”

· “Hannibal’s Special (with Chianti)”

· “The Sound of Silence (THWOCK Edition)”

· “Bridge Over Troubled Waters 

🎶 “THE SOUND OF BILLING”

(to the tune of “The Sound of Silence”)

🎵 Hello darkness, my old friend

I’ve come to bill with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of billing 🎵

🎵 In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

‘Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of billing 🎵

🎵 And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand codes, maybe more

People billing without healing

People hearing without feeling

People writing DSM pages that they never shared

No one dared

Disturb the sound of billing 🎵

🎵 “Fools,” said I, “You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my soul that I might reach you”

But my words, like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence 🎵

🎵 And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon god they made

And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls

And whispered in the sound of… THWOCK” 🎵

(Distant sound of eternity facepalming. Curtain falls.)

“Songs from the Cosmic Wooden Spoon: A Psychiatric Satire in Nine Movements” by………..

“The Psychiatrists of My Mind” (and yes, that’s now a song title we need to write—probably to the tune of “The Girl of My Mind” or something equally inappropriate).

I can see it now: a slim volume, beautifully printed, with a cover illustration of a psychiatrist facepalming while a skeleton in the background goes THWOCK. Available in all good bookstores (and a few therapy waiting rooms, where it will cause delightful chaos).

The mental health system will never be the same, thankfully. 🤣 😂