Oedipal Panties

Freud awoke in his armchair with a start.

"Oh, dear me," he drawled sleepily, looking around the control room of his floating incest palace and moistening his lips with quick lick of his creepy old tongue. "What day is it?"

Checking all of the nearby equipment, he groaned. "Well, fuck me with my mother's meat flaps! I've overslept! Best get back to work..."

Leaning over, he pulled a console up next to him, and sneaked his gnarled hand under the body of the computer. Pulling out a keyboard, he began to type all manners of passwords and security questions into it, decoding his works that lay within. Finally, after a good fifteen minutes of typing, he pulled up a program and clicked directly in the center.

The bombs went off, giving him a grand score of zero.

"Fuck you too, minesweeper," the crazy psychologist muttered, and picked up the remote that lay next to his comfy armchair. Jabbing the power button, the screen on the other side of his control room lit up, showing the home of a certain griffon and her son.

"Finally, some mother/son action!" he exclaimed.

Freud placed a cigar betwixt his teeth, and grinned as he set the end aflame, reaching for the lotion as he did so.