How can I prove to you that my days are numbered here?

Drinking my own concoction of coke and pop rocks three times a day should stimulate the vocal cords.

And now my voice will get high and I'll sprout breasts and sit around all day in lingerie.

Well, now it's time to savor my last day of life on this big, beautiful planet we call... Pluto?

And twelve hours a day on the Migra 2000 to keep my rear end from putting too much drag on my throat.

One good, one evil.

Just kidding.

That's just a little story I tell to make the children cry.

Okay.

Well, then are you saying the operation is perfectly safe?

Well, no surgery is 100% safe.

Okay, well, what are my chances, Doc?

And keep in mind, I have a very weak bladder.

I'd say you have a 99.999% chance of survival.

Let me work that out.

Mr. Peterson, that means there's only a .001% chance of complication.

Exactly.

I'm a dead man.

Mr. Peterson, everything's gonna be okay.

Oh, Doc.