Sybil, have you left Institutionalized Halfwit alone in his strait jacket writing poems to Olive Hoyle on the walls of his rubber room with a crayon stuck between his toes?
Does Institutionalized Halfwit babble incomprehensibly to himself while he drools on his “Big Bird” bib because he’s pining away for Olive Hoyle or does he just normally do that?
Does he make funny noises with his lips during the cocktail happy hour at Happy Acres; didn’t you used to do that together?
Didn’t you run together from the men in the white suits flapping your arms and making airplane noises?
Aren’t your turgid, squirming brains muy compatible?
Run back to Institutionalized Halfwit, Sybil.
(In this case you need to run back to Sybil, Institutionalized Halfwit)