Shakey went to a psychiatrist. "Doc," he said, "I've got trouble.
Every time I get into bed, I think there's somebody under it.
Then, when I get under the bed, I think there's somebody on
top of it. Doc, you've gotta help me, I'm going crazy!"

"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said the
psychiatrist. "Come to me three times a week, and I'll
cure your fears."

"How much do you charge?"

"My fee is per visit."

"That's awfully expensive, Doc," reckoned Shakey. "Let
me sleep on it, and I'll get back to you."

Six months later, the doctor and Shakey crossed paths.

"Why didn't you ever come to see me again?" asked the
psychiatrist.

"For a visit? Heck, a bartender cured me for !"

"How do you figure?" asked the psychiatrist.

"He told me to cut the legs off the bed!"