Inside The Mind With Dr Hayley: Edge

It's surprising what happens in one week away from the office. It was all relaxed before I left, but now, it is absolute chaos!

Phones ringing, pagers bleeping, my computer crashing...

I went to find Stan, but all that could be heard of him was his voice in the cupboard shouting that if Cena didn't stop, he was going to riot. Backing off from this situation, I went to my list of clients to see who was going to need my help next.

It was then that I heard my mobile phone going off...

Dr Hayley: Hello. Pro Wrestling Psychiatric Clinic. Dr Hayley speaking.

Unknown Voice: Yes! We need your help down at the hospital immediately! One of our patients has had a turn for the worst and gone completely mental. Seeing as they fit the description of people you deal with, we thought we'd give you a call.

Dr Hayley: OK, I will be straight round.

(As I hung up and left my clinic, I kept having many thoughts as to whom it could be.

Shawn? No, Triple H was "looking after him".

Mick Foley? It wouldn't surprise me. Probably had another fight with JB over the damn Twitter.

As I rounded the corner to the hospital, a scene of chaos abounded. Doctors were running away and little children were screaming. What sort of madman was I dealing with?)

Unknown Voice: WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG!!!!!! You are WRONG!!!

(As I walked up the stairs to the entrance, I was greeted by a very pale man who claimed to be the man's doctor. He ushered me down a corridor to a closed door, from behind which, vases could be heard breaking and glass was being smashed. I nervously entered the room...)

Dr Hayley: Hello?

Unknown Voice: What? Who?! What do you want? Who have you been talking to?!

Dr Hayley: Erm...No one. I was summoned because people were worried about your behaviour at the moment

Unknown Voice: Who said that? There's nothing wrong with me! They are wrong, wrong, WRONG!!

Dr Hayley: OK. Wherever you are hiding, do you think you'd be able to come out so that I could see whom I am talking to.

(At this point, I saw him, stirring from the bed, with a set of eyes peering out from under the covers. They looked at me nervously before lifting the duvet off. I wasn't able to tell whom it was to begin with through the thick mass of unwashed hair and the lumberjack beard, but the 'Rated R' pajama and the Matt Hardy voodoo doll helped me out no end.)

Dr Hayley: What were you doing under there?

Edge: It's the only place I can hide without them controlling my thoughts. They are conspiring against me you know. Trying to take my lifeblood. It's all a scheme!

Dr Hayley: Hang on a sec! Who's trying to take what?

Edge: Everyone! They are trying to take my title!

Dr Hayley: OK. Can I see your title if that's fine with you?

(After glancing at me, he slowly reached under the covers and pulled out his "title belt.")

Dr Hayley: Edge, you do realise that your "belt" as you call it, is a paper plate stuck to a banana, that has been coloured in with crayon?

Edge: Don't you dare insult my belt! It's beautiful! It's magnificent! It reeks of awesomeness!

Dr Hayley: It reeks of something alright, but I'm not sure "awesomeness" is the word I would have used.

Edge: Hahaha! I knew it! You've been sent to take away my belt! You're not taking my belt! I am the champion!

Dr Hayley: Of what exactly?

Edge: WWE, TNA, everything!! I am champion of the world! The others were jealous! That's why they got Jeff to screw up again and ruin my chance at ultimate glory!

Dr Hayley: Right...and who are the others?

Edge: The people who think they are better than me, but they are wrong! They are wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

Dr Hayley: That doesn't help me out very much, Edge. Who thinks they are better than you?

Edge: Matt, Jeff, Punk, Cena, Orton, Spongebob, Bart Simpson, God, Buddha, Space Mon-

Dr Hayley: Stop right there please! You're drifting off subject slightly. Why do you think that people are jealous of you?

Edge: Because I'm awesome, that's why! I am a nine-time WWE champion! I am the most decorated Tag Team Champion in history! I am the best looking! My theme song rocks! I have had sex live on TV and not gotten arrested for it! That's why I deserve this title! Me, not them, ME!

Dr Hayley: OK. I think the problem with you is that you have a condition known as "Title dependency." It's like the championship is your drug, and when you don't have it, you get withdrawal symptoms. That's why you made your new "title."

Edge: I am not some sort of drug addict! They get released! They get shot at point-blank range with t-shirt guns and given horrible leopard print biker jackets to wear!

Dr Hayley: Yes, but if I'm not mistaken, the current Heavyweight Champion is Jeff Har-

Edge: He is not champion! That is face paint he drew on! His belt is imaginary...like his wrestling talent! I have the real belt! It's mine! All mine!

Dr Hayley: OK. The solution here is to attempt to wean you off of the belt. To do that, I will take the belt away and reassure you that there is nothing wrong with not holding the gold.

(He suddenly grabbed his belt tightly and looked at me like some frightened little child. He looked down at the title and almost started to cry as I pried his fingers off of the banana and put it in my briefcase. I now know one thing: If this doesn't get sorted, at least I have lunch.)

Edge: M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-my title!!!!!!!!!

(At this point, he actually started to sob his heart out, Mick Foley style! Quite amusing to watch actually. Starting to wish I had videotaped this for future blackmail...err, reference.)

Dr Hayley: See. Doesn't that feel better now?

Edge: Y-y-y-y-y-yeah, a little bit. Now I know what Shelton feels like. Kinda bums.

Dr Hayley: Right then, if I leave you alone, do you promise not to raise anymore hell?

Edge: I think so. Will I get better?

Dr Hayley: You might. Only if you stop winning titles and let someone else have their turn occasionally. Is that acceptable?

Edge: Not really

Dr Hayley: Well tough. Deal with it

I decided that this was the best time to leave him and go back to Stan and the clinic.

As I turned round, I saw Edge suddenly going incredibly psycho on the Matt Hardy voodoo doll, sticking it with pins right before chucking it out of the window. He then hid back under his covers, eyes sticking out, and humming his theme tune.

It was when I was walking back down the corridor that I heard all this commotion coming towards me. A stretcher was being pushed into a room with all these doctors talking about a fall from a catering truck.

If I didn't know any better, I could have sworn it looked a lot like Matt Hardy...

This article has been a product of my imagination. However, I am now being forced to pay royalties to Stan. If anyone would like to buy a new secretary for me (who works for nothing), I would be much obliged!