Howard Howe : You’re not eating? Wallace Bryton : I can’t move my arms. Howard Howe : That would be the morphine. It is capital for the leg pain, and dare I say the only thing keeping you from howling in agony. However, it tends to leave one a bit sleepy. Wallace Bryton : I’m not sleepy. I’m...immobilized. Howard Howe : The melancholy that accompanies losing a limb must be akin to that of mourning a close friend you too often took for granted. Wallace Bryton : There was no spider, was there? Howard Howe : Of course there was. A brown recluse. Colloquially known as the hobo spider. Wallace : And you saw it? Howard Howe : Yes. Wallace Bryton : You saw the spider? Howard Howe : I only wish I had spied the creature before it so viciously attacked you. Wallace Bryton : What’d it look like? Howard Howe : The arachnid assailant? Wallace Bryton : Yeah. Howard Howe : Well...a typical spider. A legion of legs, et cetera et cetera. It was very small, though. So small you might even call it...itsy bitsy. [singing] The Itsy, Bitsy Spiiiiiiii-der went up the water spout! Wallace Bryton : Holy shit... Howard Howe : Down came the rain and washed the spider out! Up come... Wallace Bryton : LET ME OUT OF THIS CHAIR, YOU **** PSYCHO! LET ME OUT!! LET ME OUT, YOU OLD **** NUTBAG!! HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELLLLLLPPPP!!!!!

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