in-dash psychiatrist


Inspired by this post of Hannibal on CBS, i present to you Hannibal in other channels…

1. BBC: Period drama. Much running dramatically down grand staircases and moors

2. Fox: Masterchef Baltimore

3. HBO: Gritty crime drama in an urban setting in the style of The Wire. Viewer discretion advised for violence, sex and profanity

4. Travel Channel: Follow Franklyn as he travels the world to meet interesting cheese makers and collectors, sampling all the best cheese along theway. Episode one features the Darling Mermaid Darlings’ famous cheese room.

5. Hallmark: Made for tv Christmas series. Grumpy FBI professor Will Graham just wants to spend Christmas alone with his dogs in his cabin in the woods. Dashing Psychiatrist Dr Hannibal Lecter has other ideas. With the help of the friendly and quirky residents of Wolf Trap, will he bring Christmas cheer in time?

6. Starz: Crime Scene Investigator Baltimore. Procedural drama featuring Team Sassy Science (previously posted)

“Are you unhappy?” asks the onboard psychiatrist wedged crudely into the dashboard of my C3 Corvette. I sighed, and tried to ignore it. Ever since the government had decided that being angry or sad in traffic was a primary cause of accidents, they decided to chase after it by mandating that we all install artificial-intelligence psychiatrists in our shitboxes.

The upshot is that you always had someone to talk to on long road trips, but the downside was that almost nobody liked to be psychoanalyzed while waiting at a stop light. Usually, I was pretty good at controlling my galvanic skin response, the percentage of moisture in my breath, and at keeping my curse words to myself. Sometimes, like today, it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Maybe you should try telling me about your childhood,” chirped the federally-mandated safety device. I continue to make my best effort to pay no attention to it, turning up the stereo as loud as I feel the creaking paper-cone speakers can muster.

I was just about to snap and punch out the robot, federal law be damned, when a bicyclist rode alongside me in the bike lane. The in-dash psychiatrist suddenly became quiet.

The bicyclist looked left, looked right, then rode through the red light.

“PEDESTRIAN OR VEHICLE, PICK ONE, MOTHERFUCKER,” screamed the single-DIN shrink, loudly enough to crack my dash pad. As it continued to wail in inarticulate rage, I noticed a faint red glow appearing from behind its module. At last, I smelled the scent of lifting solder, and the unit sharply went silent.

The next day, the friendly agents from the government visited me at home. Shaking their heads, they extracted the destroyed psychiatrist from my dashboard before glumly placing it into a glossy black trash bag.

“Some things are just impossible to keep from being angry at,” the senior agent explained to me, barely holding back tears at the loss of one more brave soldier of road safety.