That would be me. It was delicious. My compliments to the little lady.

Well, if it isn’t the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse. There’s a morbidity and mortality conference tomorrow to figure out who’s responsible for Foster’s death. And here’s the exciting news : I’m pretty sure it was one of you.

So he’s green. Don’t beat yourself up, Carla. Come on, so far on my watch, he’s gotten stitches, cut his own hair, and eaten over four dollars in change. Honestly, if I ever need to feed the parking meter, I just check the diaper, don’t I?

Priscilla, I honestly, on my mother’s grave, thought your real name was Carol.

But, our new patient, Mr. Franks, in here is crazy rich, so I’d imagine Big Bob will be here momentarily to make love to his moneyclip.

Mr. Morrison, I understand that one of our interns spent an hour in here telling you over and over that you are going to die. I would make him apologize personally, but I’m having him spend the rest of the day checking that countertop’s heartbeat.

You go do that. And I’ll go find God, quit drinking, get in touch with myself emotionally, and we’ll meet right back here at half past impossible. Mm’kay?

Jerk-Off of the Year. No, Bastard of the Year! Uh, don’t you tell me! Guy I Despise So Much, I’d Pay Someone To Kill Ya and Stuff Ya and Leave Ya by my Bed, So That When I Wake Up in the Morning, I Could Roll Over and Punch You in the Face…of the Year.

Maybe they’ll put it in Almost Magazine.

We’re also getting a good bit of interest from the seismologists at CalTech, who I understand will be able to chart the magnitude of the scream emanating from your hypnosis patient, as well as, of course, the numerous afterscreams that are sure to follow.