As you ponder which of your several plans to enact, your dog Scratch walks into the room.

“How’s it goin’, Ol’ Scratch?” you ask him.

“I’m doing well,” he answers.

“Good to hear,” you say.

“Listen,” says Scratch, “I’m concerned about you.”

“Oh?” you respond. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, I’m talking to you. I’m a dog. Dogs can’t talk.”

“Yes,” you reluctantly agree, “I supposed that’s right.”

“Maybe you ought to seek some professional help,” Scratch suggests.

* * *

The next day, you head over to your first appointment. The doctor asks you a bunch of questions about your dreams and your relationship with your mother. Then he asks you about your plans for world domination. He sits wide-eyed as you explain about all your ideas. When you finish, he quietly excuses himself and leaves you alone. A week later, your psychiatrist is ruling the world using your plans. You never know it, though, as you’re still waiting in his office for him to return.

Try again, Loser!