Jackson went to a psychiatrist.
“Doc,” he said, “I’ve got trouble. Every time I get into bed I think there’s somebody under it. I get under the bed, I think there’s somebody on top of it. Top, under, top, under. I’m going crazy!”
“Just put yourself in my hands for two years,” said the shrink. “Come to me three times a week, and I’ll cure you.”
“How much do you charge?”
“A hundred dollars per visit.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Jackson never went back. Six months later he met the doctor on the street.
“Why didn’t you ever come to see me again?” asked the psychiatrist.
“For a hundred bucks a visit? A bartender cured me for 10 dollars.”
“Is that so! How?”
“He told me to cut the legs off the bed.”