The Road to Wellville Page #6

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too hard, but damn it all, man...

it's very unprofessional of you,

if I may say so.

How could you,

right here for everyone to see?

What will people think?

A fine advertisement for biological

livin' you are, Poultney Dab!

Very unprofessional.

Do you hear me?

Will, there you are.

We'd quite given up on you.

Mr. Unpronounceable and I were having an

interesting conversation about the czar.

Woodbine, more amperes.

My John Thomas is limp

between my thighs.

Who are you thinking of?

My dear, dear wife.

A lonely religious woman.

And the waitress at the kiosk

with the enormous breasts.

Cornflake-fed and yogurt-toned.

And you?

Eleanor, my wife.

And Ida Muntz, no doubt.

Yes, Miss Muntz.

And Nurse Graves.

Oh, ho-ho, Nurse Graves.

More amperes please, Mr. Woodbine.

And you, Mr. Unpronounceable?

Oh, come now, Mr. Unpronounceable...

I can't believe

there isn't a tit or two...

you would have liked to have squeezed

in Saint Petersburg.

What happened?

Are they hurt?

I do believe it's worse.

I think they're dead.

What? What should we do?

Well, Woodbine, I'm sure,

is a Seventh-Day Adventist...

but I know no prayers whatsoever

of the Russian Orthodox Church.

They're dead, Endymion?

They're dead!

They've been electrocuted!

Please don't get hysterical. It's

terribly American and rather vulgar.

These crackpot machines murdered them!

Don't you understand?

It is rather a severe cure

for flatulence, I do admit.

You're a lunatic.

Mr. Unpronounceable is dead!

He's dead!

These... crazy contraptions

killed him!

You must get a perspective on things.

I talked to the man.

There was very little for him

to look forward to in Russia.

You're mad.

And Woodbine?

What about Woodbine?

He's a bath attendant.

He's probably never heard of Russia.

Nurse Graves? Irene!

- Where is she?

- It's her day off. Can I help you?

Ida?

Ida? Miss Muntz?

I'm afraid poor Ida's

no longer with us.

- She left?

- She died.

- What?

- Last night, 4:
00 a.m.

It was very peaceful.

- What happened?

- Looks as if he had a heart attack.

Everybody's dying!

If this is the healthiest place

on earth, why is everybody dying?

Do we not hear the bleating

of the calves?

The bellowing of the bull?

The cackling of frightened geese?

The gobbling of reluctant turkeys?

Do we not hear the shrieks

of thousands of animals...

we dare to call dumb?

What are you having, sir?

A whiskey. A double.

And a beer chaser.

And a hamburger... with bacon.

Mr. Lightbody!

Charles, Charles Ossining.

We met on the train.

We're all dying.

Every man, woman and child.

I'll drink to that.

How would you like

that hamburger, sir?

Rare. No, not just rare.

Really rare. In fact,

cold in the middle.

They make glue from animal's hooves.

Buttons from bones.

Combs from horns.

Soap from their fat.

They even make quack medicines

from their testicles.

That's awful.

It's so sad.

I've been so blind.

You're a wonderful man.

Dr. Badger!

Your corset is gone,

I'm pleased to see.

The bust is the fountain of life.

Flat-chested women

are a danger to themselves.

Now your glasses.

My glasses?

Mere crutches for the eyes.

You don't need them.

Throw them into the fire.

We had the factory. We had

the machinery. We had the staff.

And, may I add,

we had a great product!

We were poised and ready for success.

- And we run out of money.

- Oh, you want money!

I can give you money.

No, no. I couldn't.

Charlie, you haven't got

a pot to piss in.

But I envy you.

You do?

I envy you your dreams.

Charlie. Charlie.

We must never, ever...

live in a world where dreams

are rarer than money.

How much do you want?

Five hundred? A thousand?

A thousand would be very helpful.

Rejoice ye hands

And be joyful on earth

Rejoice in the face of the Lord

For he cometh

Hallelujah

Hey, folks!

Here at the San,

the goose is not cooked!

Merry Christmas to you all!

Merry Christmas!

The place is filled with shams...

murderers and wife stealers.

- Charlie?

- Yes?

Tell me truthfully, as my friend...

- I am your friend.

- You're my friend.

Do I look any better

for eating this seaweed?

For having my insides

sucked out of me? Do I?

- No, you look like sh*t.

- I look like sh*t. I feel like sh*t.

- And you're in the sh*t.

- I am definitely in the sh*t!

Charlie, with friends like you...

Who needs enemas?

To friendship

and to looking like sh*t.

To being full of sh*t.

To bad health. To indigestion.

To shitsville!

Why pretend that sex doesn't exist?

Surely it's the clearest expression

of health and vitality.

But Dr. Kellogg says the loss of bodily

fluids is a drain on the nervous system.

But supposing he's wrong.

Supposing these fluids

build up inside you.

And if they're bottled up,

what happens to them?

Will they explode?

But isn't it true

the good doctor has never had sex?

- Mumps.

- No!

Are you saying that he's...

That he can't...

- Exactly.

- I don't believe...

Please excuse me. I'm terribly sorry.

I'm afraid it's Will.

Every woman, every man

Every woman, every man

Is at the temple of sh*t

Here at the Battle Creek San

We thought you should know, ma'am,

before the boss finds him.

Thank you.

Will, what have you done?

You've been drinking.

Yes, thank you very much.

I'll deal with it.

Ellie. Ellie, they killed them.

You're drunk!

I can't believe you!

After all everyone's done for you!

How could you do this to yourself?

They were murdered.

Mr. Unpronounceable and Woodbine!

Oh, shut up! Did you actually think

that you could get away with this?

They didn't just close

their eyes and die.

They were electrocuted!

In the suicidal bath!

- Fried like pork chops!

- Will Lightbody, I've had enough.

Let me take you away from this place...

before we end up like Miss Muntz,

before they kill us all.

You make it so difficult

to love you.

Mr. Lightbody!

Pull him out!

Sorry, sir.

You have disobeyed my orders,

risked your life...

plunged into

some reckless debauch.

Are you mad?

I smell alcohol.

You are intoxicated, sir!

Sir, I see pickles

and relish and ketchup...

and pork, yes, I see pork.

Meat. Red flesh and blood.

How could you, sir?

You obviously don't give two hoots

about your own life, sir, but I do.

I'm gonna schedule you

for surgery.

Not the knife! Please not the knife!

I'm really sorry.

Too late to be sorry, sir.

I'm gonna remove your kink.

- But I haven't even touched my wife.

- I'm not talking about your penis.

I'm gonna chop out

your offending intestines. Nurse!

Gastric lavage! Put Mr. Lightbody on

the enema machine until further notice.

Be quick!

Ladies.

- Good morning, Doctor.

- Good morning.

Good-bye! Good luck!

Did I die?

Am I in heaven?

Heaven on earth.

You're at the San.

Will, it was a success.

Your kink is gone.

But surely if the testicles are never

called upon, wouldn't they grow useless?

I can't believe that nature

has made such a blunder...

as to provide the human race

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