I wasn't going to post here, but I couldn't resist.

Someone here wrote of their depression pitching a tent and setting up a BBQ for the summer. That implies the depression will be there temporarily.

Mine has built a snug three bedroom bungalow with all the amenities: running water, central air conditioning, hardwood floors, plush carpets, stereo bigscreen TV, you name it, it has it.

When it came, it found a vacant plot of land, grown over by brambles and thickets. But it liked what it saw so much that it decided to stay.

Depression's wife: "Oh darling! I like it here so much. It's so romantic! Let's have our children here!"

Mr. and Mrs. Depression did indeed have children: a boy and a girl. They're undisciplined little brats. They jump up and down on the beds all night and run around screaming all day.

Being dutiful parents, they baptized their children and began to teach the children their Catcheism. It had only one premise: make the landlord's life miserable.

Mr. Depression has his card-playing buddies over at night. They drink. They smoke. They party. They swear. Mrs. Depression has her women friends over during the day. They recline on the couch, eating bonbons and watching the soaps.

The couple have romantic candle-lit dinners every night, thanking Satan for giving them such a wonderful place to live, under such sweet terms.

The landlord pays the mortgage, pays the hydro, the water, the cable bill, the phone bill and the taxes and for the food. The landlord pays for everything and has thus far been unable or unwilling to throw them out.

For a while, it looked like Mr. and Mrs. Depression faced eviction. But all is well. They will remain in their cozy house for the rest of their lives.

They are so confident of their status, that Mr. Depression has called and asked to have an Olympic-sized swimming pool put in the backyard.

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.