He’s been Donald Trump’s personal physicians for the last dozen years or so, and is responsible for declaring Trump to be the healthiest man ever elected to the Presidency. He took a lot of flak for that, as you might imagine, and for the way he looks, too, so the transition from private to public life has been pretty traumatic. Consequently, Dr. Bornstein started to see a psychiatrist. What follows are some fragments from their hacked sessions:

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Bornstein: I had a dream a few days ago where I was in the Oval Office and accidentally walked in on President Trump and German Chancellor Angela Merkel. They were having sex in the hovering butterfly position. I had a vision of the earth consumed in flames, and then all of my teeth started falling out.

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Psychiatrist: You seem bothered, Harold. Is there something on your mind?

Bornstein: Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that America is great again, and I LOVE being the Surgeon General, but I’m starting to have some doubts about the Flesh Wall we’re building along the US/Mexico border.

We have no idea what sort of biological reactions are going to take place within that wall, and those reactions could be just as grave a threat as ISIS.

Psychiatrist: Have you spoken up about your feelings?

Bornstein: No.

Psychiatrist: We’ve had this talk a few times already, (about 90 seconds of inaudible talking)

Bornstein: I know, I know, I know, dammit!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!! THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES!!

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Bornstein: In this dream Ivanka and I are beamed up into into a flying saucer. The aliens want us naked. We look at one another and understand.

Words are not needed. Our clothes fall away and we are naked and beautiful. Children of the universe. The aliens want us to couple. They need our beauty and fertility. My desire for Ivanka is almost overwhelming, and I can see that her desire for me is equally matched. As I pull her naked body to mine, I could see the earth, a distant blue jewel through the window just past her honey perfect shoulder. And then suddenly– due to something I knew her father had done– the earth just exploded, and as the UFO cartwheeled away from the shock waves, I was ejected naked and erect into space, where I spun alone for cold eternity.

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Last night I dreamt that a Mexican had shot the President.

I was working feverishly trying to save his life, but there was just so much blood! It was everywhere, even in my nostrils, but I keep working and working and then just when it looked like he was going to survive, I started to stab him until he was nothing more than meat for the Flesh Wall, and then I paused, took a deep breath, and then just keep stabbing.

Last year there was a play-off game between the Texas Rangers and the Toronto Blue Jays that was perhaps, one of the weirdest, most entertaining, anarchic ball games in the history of the known universe.

Part ayahuasca trip, the game culminated when Blue Jay superstar Jose Bautista absolutely crushed a three-run homer that for all intents and purposes, ended the game, time and the universe.

It was that epic.

The Rangers were ruined.

You could see the post-traumatic stress disorder forming in their glassy eyes. You could see the days of boozing and aimless driving. You could see that recovery was going to be impossible.

And if that wasn’t enough, Bautista performed a now legendary bat flip that saw him standing motionless at home plate, like a statute of a Greek God, as he watched the ball sail to glory,

before dropping the mic by tossing the bat, as if it was now something repellent to him, about a mile away.

This got under the skin of the broken Rangers, and it stayed there.

Jose Bautista has big, rat-like ears, the physical rectitude of a matador and a self-confidence that radiates from him like some sort of X-Man power. He is arrogant, this man, and although he’s an intelligent and astounding baseball player, he’s still a prick. I mean, he thinks of himself as a corporation and acts accordingly. He knows how great he is, and if for some reason you forget it, his body language will surely remind you, and if that doesn’t, well, he’ll tell you. You get the sense with Bautista, that he really does see the rest of the world as, “The Little People.”

At any rate, this bat flip, this losing in the playoffs to the Jays has stuck in the collective craw of the Rangers for the better part of a year.

Sunday was the last meeting of the two teams this year (barring a playoff match-up) and the Rangers pitcher hit Bautista with a pitch. This was pay back, and although Bautista gave him the slow, threatening stink-eye, he didn’t do anything, until he did do something. This something was a hard, illegal take-out slide of Ranger second baseman Rougned Odor on an ensuing play.

Now this sort of thing has been happening in baseball for a hundred years, but only recently was this kind of slide (in which you try to knock over the second baseman rather than achieve possession of the bag) made illegal. Odor, the second baseman, shoved Bautista in the chest. Bautista, who could buy and sell the little man, moved toward him like a God toward a mortal, and as he was pulling his fingers together to make a fist,  Rougned clocked him in the face with a stunning punch that saw Bautista’s $13,000 glasses, helmet and ego go flying.

It was awesome.

Of course, there are all sorts of people who are upset about the savagery of the act, but not me. It was cathartic and shocking, a David and Goliath moment that saw the preening, entitled 30 million dollar a year athlete get what his behaviour actually warranted. It was, for a moment, a kind of justice, a blow for the little man, and it made me happy.

It hasn’t been going particularly well, as I’m not really qualified for much, but recently I came upon a truly interesting and exciting possibility. A new company called Cudlers is opening up in Toronto, and they offer—for a price of $80 an hour—a platonic snuggling service for its clients, and are currently looking for a diverse array of Cuddlers to make house calls throughout the Greater Toronto Area.

I think I could do this.

I wrote the agency expressing my interest and they requested that I send them a photograph of myself, including my age and height, and a short essay on why I’d like to be a Cuddler.

This is what I sent:

Marcus Agincourt

Age: Younger than Tom Cruise

Height: Taller than Tom Cruise

I have been told that I have an extremely warm and reassuring manner. In fact, during group, I was once told, “Marcus, holding you is like stepping inside of a calming, Brian Eno composition.” I have participated in extensive Hug Therapy (HT) for my PTSD over the years, and the result of this training is that I am a very, very empathetic, sensitive and patient person.

You should know that I am an excellent listener and a natural conversationalist whom people feel very comfortable confiding in. I am, as they say, an old soul, and even if I have a slightly jittery manner and often knock things over, such as drinks, ashtrays and lamps, I’ve been told that I really know how to put people at ease. (I am a Pisces, and although many of this star sign are drinkers, I swore off the hard stuff years ago and now restrict myself to just wine in the evening.)

I dress well, in soft and reliable fabrics, and as I have very little muscle tone, my build, although slim, is very soft to the touch. I am proud to say that I have been compared favourably to Wagyu beef. Also, I do not sweat, so I emit no body odour whatsoever, and out of respect for others, have always kept my nails trim.

The truth is that I just want to help. I understand that in this modern world it’s sometimes easy to feel isolated and disconnected, and that people yearn for some simple, platonic human contact. It may sound corny, but I just want to help people heal, and if I can do that by wrapping myself around them in a non-sexual way for an hour, then I would consider it a privilege to do so.

Hugs,

Marcus Agincourt

PS: I prefer to cuddle to the music of Blondie but would defer to the wishes of the client.

PPS: A short list of dream clients:

Vintage Raquel Welch

An Asian

Jennifer Love Hewitt

Salma Hayek

Tom Hardy

Madonna (I would snuggle the mean right out of her)

Natalie Portman

Janet Gretzky

Paulina Gretzky (I would like to cuddle the three Gretzky’s all at once)

Wayne Gretzky

Stephen Hawking (I think it would be interesting and a possible learning experience, understanding that the cuddler will learn as much from the cuddlee, as the other way around!)