GK: It's January, and the diet you went on after the holidays it's not working for you. (CRY OF FRUSTRATION) You are eating nothing but roots and berries and leaves (CRUNCHING, UNHAPPY EATER) and it's all roughage and every hour or so (TK: Excuse me) you have to use the toilet, and yet you are getting heavier. (TK: WHY? WHY?) you pull on your pants in the morning (RIP.
TK: What?) And you bend over to tie your shoes and (SNAP) your belt snaps. So you have to go to the Fat Man store to buy new clothes--
SS: This is our new Cargo Pants with the elastic waist.
TK: No! I don't want an elastic waist! I'm not ready for that!
SS: Well, from the looks of you, I'd say you need an elastic waist with a little hammock in front.
TK: No! (FADING) No! No! (STING)
GK: At night you dream about food--
TR: Would you like the vegetarian seeds and stems, or the Prime rib, sir?
TK: Oh, I don't know. Let's say the Prime Rib.
TR: We have the 8 oz Diplomat, the 16 ounce Manly Man, the 32 ounce Predator, and the 48 ounce Weapon of Mass Destruction--
TK: Oh, may as well bring me the 48 ounce.
TR: Baked potato?
TK: How many?
TR: As many as you like.
TK: How about three to start--
TR: Butter, sour cream, gravy, Bac-o-bits, or melted lard?
TK: Sure. All of it.
GK: You have dreams in which you are eating ice cream out of buckets (SFX) and your wife asks if she can have a spoonful and-- (SNARLS) -- And every morning you step on the bathroom scale
(LONG RATCHET. TK: WHAT? HOW CAN THAT BE? I'M JUST A LITTLE WIRY GUY.)
GK: And then your wife has a confession--
SS: Honey-- I should've told you this before, but -- every morning for the past month, I've found the garbage can stuffed with hamburger pods.
TK: Well, who could that be?
SS: And then this morning, I found one in your bed.
TK: Me?
SS: And you have ketchup stains on your pajamas.
TK: Oh no-- you mean?--
SS: We'll get you help, Bob. There's therapy. There are groups that meet. (DARK CHORD)
GK: You've become one of America's one-point-two million sleep eaters. People who get up in the night and go to the drive-through window and pick up big shopping bags full of 2000-calorie supersize cheeseburgers and buckets of fries. So the next Tuesday night, you go to your group.
TK: My name is Bob and I eat in my sleep.
ALL: Hi, Bob.
GK: And that helps. And you join a health club and get a trainer named Stephanie. (SS: Just put your chin on the strap and hold the weights with your arms outstretched and -- okay? Let's see you lift. (TK STRAINING WEAKLY) Okay that's good now just lift a little. Okay lift. And go. Ready, lift-- )
And you take pills that make you nauseous when you look at food. (TK SFX)
GK: And you have to sleep in a bed in a cage.
SS: Goodnight, honey. (LOCKS RATCHET)
GK: But you keep everybody awake trying to claw out of the cage in your sleep (CAGE RATTLES, SS: Stop it!!!!) So you try hypnosis.
(HYPNOSIS MUSIC)
TR: You disdain food. Food makes you ill. If you eat food, you will toss your cookies. You will be driving the porcelain bus. You will experience the Technicolor yawn.
GK: And gradually it works--
(RATCHET OF SCALE)
TK: Look! I'm losing weight!
GK: And you lose more and more weight.
TK: Thirty two waist...thirty...twenty-four...
GK: You get skinnier and skinnier.
TK: Do you have men's jeans in a sixteen?
SS: Yes, but that's with an eighteen-inch inseam.
TK: Oh. You don't have a sixteen-thirty-five?
SS: You need help, mister.
GK:But it's hard to reverse this, once you get going. (TREADMILL, TK PANTING) The exercise. The revulsion at food. (SFX) The comfort of your cage at night. (RATCHET LOCK) The Sleep Eating Group.
TR: Today Bob is celebrating ninety days on nothing but celery and water chestnuts. (ALL: YAY BOB)
GK: And it gets to where you meet people on the street and they don't see you.
TK: Marcia?? It's me, Bob.
SS: What? Did someone just say something?
GK: And then the inevitable happens. You walk down the street over a sidewalk grate and you go through. (TK FALLING, SPLAT IN MUD) And you lie there in the storm sewer in the mud and the muck and then you feel bright yellow eyes looking at you. (GATOR GROWL) It's an alligator. A child's Christmas pet who was flushed down the toilet and he's been getting bigger as you got smaller. You raise your tiny wrist -- (TK: Please. Don't. GATOR GROWL) Wouldn't this be a good time for a piece of rhubarb pie? Yes, nothing gets the taste of shame and humiliation out of your mouth like a piece of Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie. But one little thing can revive a guy, And that is homemade rhubarb pie. Serve it up, nice and hot.Maybe things aren't as bad as you thought.
DUET: Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb, Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie. Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb, Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.