Doc, I Just Don't Enjoy Slopping Around in Mud Like I Used To

Maybe some talking (or is that squealing?) therapy would help (obviously, the after picture is above).

Via Drudge, this headline Ecstasy Caused Depression in Pigs.

How can these Danish scientist tell?

I assume they are observing changes in brain chemistry that correspond to the kind of brain chemistry commonly found in depressive humans, but that's no fun.

I much rather picture a psychiatrist looking vaguely like Dr. Sigmund Freud, with the glasses, cigar (it's only a cigar, folks) and corduroy jacket (with the requisite elbow patches) with a fair sized pig reclined on his leather couch squealing noisily (and the shrink nodding his head thoughtfully at each series of squeals, interjecting with hmmm, go on, yesss, hmmm, and the clincher, 'but tell me about your mother').

If Woody Allen were still funny, and producing shorts for the internet (and it was say 1966, after all Freudian talking therapy isn't exactly in favor anymore, or cigar smoking, or corduroy jackets with elbow patches, but these are my cliches so work with me people, of course pushing up the date for the introduction of viral videos on the internet by about 36 years also presents some difficulties, has anyone followed this digression this far? If you have you deserve a medal), he would have come up with a sketch just like the scene I describe.