The Road to Wellville

Sir, how often should one exonerate one's bowels?

One should never, ever interrupt one's desire to defecate.

I have inquired at the Bronx and London zoos...

as to the daily bowel evacuation of primates.

It's not once, twice or three times, sir, but four.

At the end of an average day their cages are filled...

with a veritable mountain of natural health.

And sex?

Sex is the sewer drain of a healthy body, sir.

Any use of the sexual act other than procreation is a waste of vital energy.

Wasted seeds are wasted lives.

- Eating meat? - He that killeth the ox...

is as if he slew a man.

Each juicy morsel of meat is alive and swarming with the same filth...

as found in the carcass of a dead rat.

A meat eater, sir, is drowning in a tide of gore. What is a sausage?

A sausage is an indigestible balloon...

of decayed beef riddled with tuberculosis.

Eat it and die.

For I have seen many a repentant meat glutton...

his body full of uric acid and remorse, his soul adrift on a raft...

in an ocean of poisonous slime...

sloshing against the walls of the body's kitchen.

Smoking?

The liver is the only thing standing between the smoker and death.

Also certain other things have to be avoided...

like feather beds...

and romantic novels...

and the touching of one's organs.

Masturbation is the silent killer of the night...

the vilest sin of self-pollution, the sin of Onan.

Dr. Kellogg, how did you come to invent the cornflake?

The cornflake, sir, is just one of 75 of my creations for healthy living...

among them peanut butter and the electric blanket.

And what about your imitators? There are 103 other cornflakes...

presently being manufactured here in Battle Creek.

Sir, corn is the Injun's gift to the New World...

and the cornflake is my gift to the entire world.

And what do you think about your brother?

My younger brother, W.K. Kellogg, worked for me...

as a low-paid assistant for many years.

Now he's on his own and amassing fortunes with my cornflake invention.

Unfortunately he has chosen the family name to promote it.

But the whole world knows only one Kellogg:

Me, Dr. John Harvey Kellogg...

surgeon, inventor, author and crusader for biological livin'.

I do not seek monetary reward...

for I am called to a greater glory.

Here, at the Battle Creek Sanitarium...

the spirits soar, the mind is educated...

and the bowels... the bowels are born again.

Every woman

And every man

Is at the temple of health

Here at the Battle Creek San

In, out. In, out.

In, out. In, out.

- Did you? - Nothing.

Oh, my darling Will, I'm so sorry.

Eleanor, if I could only eat something.

My poor thing.

Not now, Will.

Excuse me, sir. But would you mind if we joined your table?

I'm afraid the dining car is rather crowded.

- No, no, no. Not at all. Please. - Thank you.

- Ossining. Charles Ossining. - Eleanor Lightbody.

And this is my husband, Will.

- How do you do. - Allow me to give you my card.

I'm in the breakfast food business.

Really? Which one? Try-a-Bita? Krinkle? Foodle?

Cero-Fruito? Fush? Goodness, there's so many, suddenly.

- It's hard to keep up. - Per-Fo.

Per-Fo? Don't believe I've heard of that one.

Actually, we haven't started yet.

In fact, I'm on my way to Battle Creek to start the company.

- How nice. - You're eating oysters.

Yes. Bluepoints. They're quite good.

- Would you like to try one? - No!

- It's his stomach. - May I take your order, sir, madam?

Oh, yes.

I'll have the cucumber salad and a glass of water. Thank you.

- And sir? - Toast. And a glass of water.

- Toast? - Toast.

And how would you like that, sir?

Toasted. Dry. On its own. On a plate.

Certainly, sir.

Battle Creek, you say. Well, what a coincidence.

That's our destination too. We're going to the sanitarium for the cure.

- I've never been. - Third time for me. First for Will.

I'm one of those Battle freaks that you read about.

Well, well, well.

- Scavengers of the sea, you know. - Excuse me?

Eleanor, not again, please.

Oysters live in muck and filth, and they feed on it.

You said you wouldn't do this.

Oyster juice is nothing more than urine.

- Urine? - Piss, to use the vernacular.

Eleanor, that's enough!

But, Will, the gentleman should know that he's ingesting slimy piss.

Will you never shut up!

Oh, my God!

Terrible thing, indigestion.

Bye, Mr. Ossining. Good luck with your new company.

Good-bye.

Bend and stretch.

Twist, twist.

And I will show to you...

that in the sluggish bowels of the flesh eater...

lays the source of 9/10... 9/10...

of the chronic ills from which human beings suffer.

Ah, Mr. Dab, you're back.

Good. We can continue with the " Question Box" with a small demonstration.

- Sir, he's here. - Later, Poult, later. Sit down.

Ladies and gentlemen, here I have in front of me a steak...

which my assistant, Mr. Poultney Dab, assures me...

is the finest porterhouse the nearby Post Tavern Hotel has to offer.

Also, I have here a bag of horse excreta.

Oh, yes. Manure.

Dung from our very own stables, so fresh it is still warm.

Hey, and steaming!

Dr. Linniman, would you be so kind as to prepare a sample of each...

for the microscopes, please?

Ladies and gentlemen, I will now provide you with proof...

which I fervently hope will forever turn you away...

from the disgustin' habit of eating meat.

Disgustin' not only because we should never take the lives...

of our fellow creatures, but disgustin' because, my friends, what lurks...

within that steak...

is as bad or worse than that which crawls inside that bag of barnyard dung.

Now, may I have a volunteer, please?

Oh, come on, don't be shy.

Miss Muntz, who I see in the second row here.

Would you be so kind as to come to the table, Miss Muntz, please?

Watch your step.

- Thank you. - Watch your step, sir.

Oh, breathe it in, Will. Can't you just smell it?

We're both going to get well. I just know it. It's a promise.

What do you see, Miss Muntz?

White specks crawling.

Dr. Linniman, please, please, do not keep us in suspense.

Please reveal to our good friends here the identity of the offensive slide.

Sir, Miss Muntz has identified the porterhouse steak.

Ladies and gentlemen, please come to the podium and see for yourself.

Oh, it's Dr. Kellogg's "Question Box." What a pity we missed it.

- How much do I tip? - Oh, no dear. Not at the San.

Ah, Mr. Birdwhistle...

Look, Will! There's the great man himself. There's Dr. Kellogg.

Working that program, are we? Good girl.

Mr. Abernathy. I trust the Protose broth is helping with the flatulence?

- Very well, Doctor. - Good. Splendid.

Ah, Mrs. Portois, a glow in your cheeks I detect.

A veritable beacon of natural health!

How pleasing.

Hello, Father. Aren't you going to introduce me?

- Do you have some spare change, miss? - Excuse us, please.

How dare you, son? I've told you never to come here.

Come on, Father, give us a cuddle.

- You stink, sir. - Don't we all in one way or another?

Your behavior is unconscionable.

- Now, why are you here? - Money.

You've had all the money you'll ever get from me, boy.

Dr. Kellogg, what a pleasure to see you.

- Ah, yes, Mrs... - Lightbody. Eleanor Lightbody.

I'd like to introduce you to my husband. This is Will.

Hello, You look like you're on your last leg. Can you spare some change?

Excuse us, please.

- How much? - One hundred.

Mr. Wilcox. Take this gentleman to Mr. Phipps...

and tell him to give him $100.

Then show him the front gate. Thank you.

Poor wretch. A charity patient. Ah, now, Mr. Lightbody, is it?

How do you do, sir? Oh, dear, you are unwell.

Let me see your tongue, please. Out more.

Wider. More. That...

Oh, yeah.

The tongue is the billboard to the bowels, Mr. Lightbody...

and this piece of furry flesh between my fingers shouts S-l-C-K, sick.

You're a sick man, sir. As severe a case of autointoxication as I've ever seen.

Is there anything you can do? We're both tremendous believers in your methods.

I am, anyway. But Will is really keen to learn. Aren't you?

- Uh... - You've come to the right place.

But we are merely lifeguards at watch on the shores of the alimentary canal.

A wheelchair immediately for Mr. Lightbody! Hurry!

I don't need a wheelchair. I do not need a wheelchair.

Sir, I am a doctor, and you take my word for it. You are in need of a wheelchair.

Wheelchairs are for amputees, for Civil War veterans...

old people with one foot in the grave.

Lucky if you have only one foot in the grave, because I can help you.

Two feet in and your money will be better spent with an undertaker.

Mr. Johnston, I want the finest care for this gentleman.

So get the very best attendant. Graves. Yes, get Nurse Graves.

Hey, one foot in the grave! Ha!

I will see to you personally first thing in the morning.

- If you're still alive, that is. - Thank you.

Thank you, ma'am.

Frank!

Oh, darling, it's Dr. Linniman who I told you about...

who looked after me so wonderfully well the last time... you remember.

No, I don't remember.

How are you?