EMERGENCY REBUTTAL
EMERGENCY REBUTTAL
Discussing the New York Post's OCD article.
The New York Post recently published a charming article about how my OCD will make me do the next 9/11. In the piece, John Mac Ghlionn, the author, named John Mac Ghlionn—consistently miscategorizes OCD, relies solely on a flawed research paper, and just all around kinda shits the bed on this one. Again, the guy who wrote the piece is named John Mac Ghlionn. Remember the name John Mac Ghlionn because it will be important when I make a sick burn a few paragraphs from now.
The International OCD Foundation, OCD-UK, and heaps of OCD and mental health specialists have condemned the New York Post article.
“It is factually fraught, harmful, and not based in proven science. As a result, we would like to see it taken down. In short: Do Better.” —The International OCD Foundation
“We state with confidence that the New York Post article was written with a complete lack of understanding of OCD.” —OCD-UK
You can read the IOCDF’s statement here and OCD-UK’s statement here. While these organizations and absolute loads and loads of doctors and psychologists and psychiatrists and mental health specialists and OCD sufferers and John Mac Ghlionn’s mother have already spoke out against this factually LAME New York Post article, I did have a few things I’d like to add.
Below is my letter to John Mac Ghlionn and, subsequently, the New York Post.
John. I get it. OCD is weird. Why do those fuckers keep washing their hands until they bleed? Stop driving around and around because you think you ran someone over, ya dorks!
Maybe they should stop being such little bitches, amiright, John? Ughhhh stop structuring your lives into precise, inescapable patterns! Stop obsessing over something that you know definitely didn’t happen in 2013 but you can’t actually convince yourself didn’t happen, ya dummies!
But John—maybe you need to give us OCD dweebs some slack. I mean, we all have our struggles—right? Right?
Right?
Don’t we, John? Don’t we all have a few demons? A few skeletons in our closet?
Maybe a handful of dead bodies in the trunk of our car? Perhaps a few rotting corpses, triple-bagged and stuffed behind the Christmas lights in the shed?
Don’t think I didn’t see you kill Nancy and the kids, John. Don’t think I didn’t watch you every night—for months—squatting nude over your space heater and sharpening your Wüsthof Classic 5-inch Hollow-Edge Santoku.
I’m sure you’d like to dispose of the bodies soon—isn’t that right, John? Death does have quite the stench. But I know you know that the footpath from the shed to the car is in clear view of the main road.
I’m right—aren’t I, John? And the graves you dug just past Baker’s Ridge are a long ways away—at least a hundred miles up I-75, yea? That’s a long drive with Nancy, Erika, and Liam wedged in back of the Avalon. That’s a lot of time to think about things. A lot of chances to get pulled over, John. So what, you’ll be thinking to yourself. SO WHAT. So what—I munched on their toes a bit. A dead foot is a dead f—ing foot.
But yeah—maybe I’m the radical one.
At least I didn’t KILL AND EAT MY FAMILY, JOHN.
John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family. John Mac Ghlionn killed and ate his family.
Some resources and links that have helped me
Missed my last Psychology Onions post? Read it here.
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