New Asylums Spark Outrage: ‘Where Will My Invisible Unicorn Therapist Live?’

In a bombshell development that has shaken the nation’s most unhinged communities, the Department of Mental Wellness has unveiled “Operation Bedlam Redux,” a $47 billion initiative to resurrect insane asylums across the country, complete with padded cells, flickering fluorescent lights, and a complimentary “Serenity Now” lobotomy package. But the real scandal, uncovered by this reporter’s exclusive investigation, is the uproar from residents who fear their imaginary friends—vital to their mental ecosystems—face existential eviction. “Where will my invisible unicorn therapist, Dr. Glitterhoof, live?” wailed Denver local Tammy Tinfoil, clutching a crayon drawing of her horned life coach.

Sources close to the Department confirm the asylums, rebranded as “Sanity Spas for the Terminally Whimsical,” offer no accommodations for imaginary companions, leaving thousands of fictional friends—from sentient toasters to time-traveling goldfish—facing homelessness. “This is a humanitarian crisis for my imaginary tap-dancing walrus, Percival,” said self-proclaimed “visionary thought leader” Chad McScreamy, who sources say once negotiated a peace treaty with his toaster. “Percival needs a corner office with a sea view, not a rubber room!”

The Critical Chronicle’s deep dive reveals the asylums’ strict “No Imaginary Entities” policy has sparked protests, with lunatics picketing outside city halls, waving signs reading “Save Our Fictional Friends!” and “My Talking Cactus Deserves Rights!” One protester, who identified only as “Supreme Chancellor of Narnia,” told this reporter, “My invisible debate team has been prepping for the Galactic Ethics Symposium. Locking them in an asylum is cultural genocide!”

Insider leaks suggest the government underestimated the economic impact of imaginary friends, who reportedly drive a $12 trillion “fantasy-based GDP” through activities like “consulting” (whispering advice during Zoom calls) and “content creation” (inspiring unhinged X rants). Max Quill’s proprietary analysis projects a 47% stock market dip if imaginary unicorns, like Dr. Glitterhoof, lose their therapeutic licenses, potentially tanking the NASDAQ’s “Sparkle Index.”

Adding fuel to the fire, asylum architects failed to include “imaginary friend safe spaces,” prompting accusations of systemic bias. “These cells aren’t even Feng Shui-compliant for my invisible ninja accountant, Steve,” fumed Boulder resident Karen Kaleidoscope, who claims Steve balances her aura’s budget. “He’s already threatening to file a spectral lawsuit.”

The Department of Mental Wellness declined comment, but a leaked memo reveals plans to pacify residents with “Imaginary Friend Relocation Grants,” offering fictional pals one-way bus tickets to “the astral plane.” Critics call it a sham, with one X user posting, “My talking avocado, Guac Vader, ain’t riding no Greyhound to nowhere!”

As protests escalate, Max Quill’s quirky insight suggests a solution: a virtual reality “Imaginary Friend Sanctuary” app, where fictional pals can roam free in pixelated meadows. Early investors, including a hedge fund betting on “digital unicorn futures,” project a $3 billion valuation by Q4. For now, the nation’s crazies remain on edge, clutching their invisible comrades and demanding justice. As Tammy Tinfoil put it, “Dr. Glitterhoof’s my rock. Without him, I’m just a lady yelling at clouds.”