Shakey went to a psychiatrist.  "Doc," he said, "I`ve got trouble.  Every time I get into bed, I think there`s somebody under it.  I get under the bed, I think there`s somebody on top of it.  Top, under, top, under.  .  .  you gotta help me, I`m going crazy!"

"Just put yourself in my hands for two years," said the shrink.  "Come to me three times a week, and I`ll cure your fears."

"How much do you charge?"

"A hundred dollars per visit."

"I`ll sleep on it," said Shakey.

Six months later the doctor met Shakey on the street.  "Why didn`t you ever come to see me again?" asked the psychiatrist.

"For a hundred bucks a visit?  A bartender cured me for ten dollars."

"Is that so!  How?"

"He told me to cut the legs off the bed!"