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.
“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.”
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