Crisis counselor fired after nearly killing Jeff Sessions


MOBILE: Attorney General Jeff Sessions came perilously close to losing his life last Sunday after calling the National Suicide Prevention Hotline for help. “Rather than helping me, this woman darn near pushed me over the edge,” said Mr. Sessions. “I’d bet my 1864 Sharp’s falling block that she’s a liberal Democrat.”

On Wednesday, one of his prized Weimaraners escaped from the fenced yard of his Mobile home, leapt into the back of passing garbage truck, and was compacted to death. On Saturday night, neighborhood pranksters teepeed his house and hung a Mr. Magoo doll from the eaves over his front porch.

On Sunday, Sessions had departed early from a congregation at the Methodist Church he attends. At home, he began drinking heavily from a bottle of bourbon while reading the Sunday paper. Two articles apparently brought his simmering crises to a boiling point: the state of Oklahoma legalizing medical marijuana, and the Texas Republican convention voting to decriminalize possession of up to one ounce of weed.

The minimum-wage African-American counselor (the NSPH has suffered severe budget cutbacks lately), Shaniqua Tubbs, fielded Mr. Sessions’s call from her home office in Denver. “He just said he was Jeff from the capital,” said Ms. Tubbs. “He didn’t say which capital. I had no idea he be the Attorney General. All these calls supposed to be confidential, but yo, they fired me, so what I got to lose by telling all?” Ms. Tubbs recalled the conversation as follows:

MS. TUBBS: Are you having suicidal thoughts?

MR. SESSIONS: Well… not really. Yet. Just feeling very depressed. My boss hates me.

MS. TUBBS: How depressed on a scale from one to ten? One being, like, I can’t pay the rent and I just want to chill on the sofa and watch TV with a bag of pork rinds. Know what I’m sayin’? Ten being, like, I’m itching to blow my brains out.

MR. SESSIONS: I’d say about eight, or eight and a half.

MS. TUBBS: Can you qualify your depression?

MR. SESSIONS: Not sure what that means.

MS. TUBBS: We supposed to ask that. I’m not sure either. I guess… can you describe how you feel? Like an analogy?

MR. SESSIONS: Well, I feel sort of like General Lee must have felt after Gettysburg. Or maybe Stonewall Jackson, wounded by his own men. Like I’m hemmed on all sides and there’s no hope.

MS. TUBBS: Do you toke, sir?


MS. TUBBS: You know medical marijuana is a proven anti-depressant. Works for me when I got the blues! If you live in a state —

“And that’s when I heard the gunshot,” said Ms. Tubbs. She didn’t realize that Mr. Sessions had a .357 revolver propped against his cheek, loaded and cocked. “It’s a Dan Wesson 715 with a single-action hair trigger,” Mr. Sessions explained later. “I didn’t intend to pull the trigger. I just snapped. My cheek is bruised and I’m still deaf in the right ear.”

Although Mr. Sessions suffered only a minor wound, the bullet ricocheted off a bronze statue of General P.G.T. Beauregard into the back yard, killing his other Weimaraner.

The Attorney General was pleased that the NSPH dismissed Ms. Tubbs, and vowed to work to increase compensation for crisis hotline counselors. Ms. Tubbs has been offered no end of higher paying jobs and feels no regret over the incident: “Me disappointed? Only about one thing, honey — I thought those NRA crackers had better aim.”