How dare you exploit my pain to get your own private little sex show?

I'm a dead man.

Mr. Peterson, everything's gonna be okay.

Oh, Doc.

I know you have to say that.

But I'm already going through the seven stages of death.

First denial.

Then anger.

Then hunger.

And then... Sleepy and Doc and Donner and Blitzen.

Oh, jeez.

Oh, I realize now that I'm all alone.

I'm doomed.

Isolated from the rest of the world like a free-floating blob of cellulite cast adrift in a sea of cotton candy soaked in dog saliva.

Which is so ironic because dogs are allergic to cotton candy, except of course the poodle.

Oh, why me?

Why me?

I'm so young.

I'm so innocent.

I'm so chocolaty.