Duchess Cymbalta, before your execution, you will join me at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational

Last week I was talking to a friend about what a nightmare it is to try and find the right depression medication. He suffers from the disease as well and has seen his fair share of pharmaceuticals whose names sound like characters in online role-playing games involving civilizations on other planets.

“Captain Klonopin requires your presence immediately, Princess Adderall.”

“Thank you, Admiral Dexedrine. I will transport shortly.”

My friend is Mormon and he was trying to describe what it was like to try a certain anti-anxiety drug that can have the debilitating side-effect of making one’s anxiety much, much worse. After stuttering over, “Um, you know, um…” for a minute or two a light bulb appeared over his head like a halo and he said, “You know when you drink a whole six pack of Coke and eat an entire bag of skittles, ALL BY YOURSELF? That’s what I felt like. I couldn’t sit still!”

I have tried the same medication and indeed it made me jittery, except I would have said, “You know when you snort six lines of coke and drink an entire pot of coffee, ALL BY YOURSELF?”

But he wouldn’t know.

So I just nodded my head and agreed, “Yeah, I hate it when I eat an entire bag of skittles all by myself.”