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About Kobe

I’m analysin this mess, and I’m fumin—fumin!—cos the numbers don’t add up. One ledger says 50k, next says 5k—where’s the dosh goin? Prolly some geezer in a suit, sippin gin, laughin at us mugs. But then—boom!—I spot it: hidden fees, skimmed profits, all funneled through “consultin” firms. Sneaky bastards! Made me happy as a pig in muck, crackin that puzzle—felt like Churchill stormin the Commons, “We shall never yield!”

Winfred R. 'Fred' Hooker

List of obituaries of prominent psychologists who have appeared in the American Psychologist.

After my snack attack, I stroll down to Obita Park. It’s usually a chill spot, but today? It’s packed. There’s a festival or something. People are dancing, music blasting. I’m just standing there, feeling outta place. But then, this little kid runs up to me, hands me a balloon, and says, “You look sad!” I’m like, “Kid, you have no idea.” But I can’t help but smile.

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