If there's absolutely nothing wrong with you, nothing about you that's fucked up, scarred, broken, it can mean only one thing. There's not a single particle of organic matter in your psyche that ever could go bad. Nothing even bacteria would stoop to munch on. You have a pile of non-degradable waste for a brain and a Twinkie for a heart.
You've never needed Xanax because you're too dumb to worry about anything. You've never taken any Prozac because the only thing you've ever been obsessed with is some toothless ugly dwarf who happens to have half your DNA, which in your opinion entitles it to the adoration of the whole wide world and turns the copious amounts of excrement it produces into pure gold. You've never gone to see a shrink because you're perfectly content sharing all the minutea of your excruciatingly boring existence with your friends for free. You're too busy telling yourself how happy you are to ever have experienced such nonsense as anxiety or discontent.You get high on sunshine, family vacations and motivational aphorisms.
You're a shapeless blob of carefree joy. Everything about you is loud, cheerful and trite. The highlights of your day are the loud, cheerful and trite remarks of your cretinous offspring and the equally loud, cheerful and trite remarks of your cultural heroes. And maybe, if you're lucky, some cheesy rom-com. Just the way you like it: loud, cheerful and trite.
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תודה שהגבתם. או משהו.