Darth Vader made a visit to the local Psychiatrist on Coruscant. "You have to help me, Doctor," he said, in between his labored breaths, "I think I am going insane."

"What seems to be the problem?" said the psychiatrist, taking a few cautious steps back from the volatile and perhaps mentally-savaged Sith Lord. "Why don't you lie down on that couch over there and tell me your story?"

Vader obeyed, and as his head hit the pillow he loosed a loud sigh. "You see," he said, "my wife died recently under circumstances that were no fault of my own. And yet, as I am lying on my bed at night, trying to sleep, I can hear her screaming from the space under the bed. I have lifted the bed up and checked, and there is no one there. This has been going on for months, and it's driving me crazy. Can you help me?"

"Hmmmm,"said the psychiatrist, scratching his chin. "I believe I can help you, but it's going to cost one thousand credits."

"Let me think it over," said Vader, rising fom the couch and walking to the door. "I will give you my answer in one standard week."

The week turned into several months, and the psychiatrist never saw nor heard anything from the Dark Lord. That is, until one day as the psychiatrist was walking home from work and he ran into Vader. "You never came back to see me," he said. "Why?"

" 'Why'! " said Vader, clearly agitated. "You tried to overcharge me! You offered to help me for a thousand credits. I went to the cantina by my house that night, and the bartender gave me advice that completely cured me, and he only charged ten!"

The psychiatrist was shocked. "The bartender cured you!?! What did he say to you?"

"He told me to cut the legs off of the bed."