 So what was it like?"Boys, I got just one thing to say: Don't do
it!"
But Steve, the alternative was not good.
"Oh, I know, but it's just so good to get out of there, you know?
They get a guy tied down with tubes and wires and piggin' strings
and hobbles ... and then they got this TV set in there up on the
wall, and they don't give you a remote control for it and the sound
is turned off. So there you are, trying to figure out what's going
on. It's the only time I've been able to figure out what's happening
on the Spanish language channel."
Mavis came by and filled Steve's cup. "Whatcha havin' Hon?"
"Mavis, darling, I'd like three orders of sourdough toast, and
I'd like you to make them, because you know just how long to leave
each succulent slice in the toaster."
"You got it, Babe."
"Toast?" Doc said. "You get out of the hospital and you just want
toast?"
Doc, we thought, don't ask a question if you aren't prepared for
the answer.
[to top of second
column] |
"I'm glad you asked, Doc," said Steve, puffing himself up to
large owl-like proportions. "You know why people get well and leave
the hospital? The toast. That's right. They'll even get well if it
means getting away from 12,000 mile-an-hour hospital toast."
"Twelve thousand..."
"... mile-an-hour toast. Yessir. That's their secret. Oh, they
tell you it's the medicine and the care and the expert manipulation
of the bedpans, but believe me, it's serving that 12,000
mile-an-hour toast that does it."
"What is...?"
"Well, Dud, it's like this. First they take the bread and glue it
to the outside of the space shuttle and then they send it to the
moon and bring it back. If it survives the heat of re-entry, they
slap a pat of butter on it and bring it to you."
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
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