Honest John's Diagnosis

From Disney's Pinocchio:



Honest John:   Oh, you poor, poor boy.
           You must be a nervous wreck.
           That's it! You are a nervous wreck!
           We must diagnose this case at once.
           (TO GIDEON) Quick, Doctor, your notebook.
           Bless my soul.
           My, my.
           Just as I thought.
           A slight touch of monetary complications
           with bucolic semilunar contraptions
           of the flying trapezes.
           Say, "Hippopotamus".

Pinocchio:   Hi-ho-hotamus.

Honest John: I knew it!
           Compound transmission of the pandemonium
           with percussion and spasmodic frantic
           disintegration.
           Close your eyes. What do you see?

Pinocchio:   Nothing.

Honest John: Open 'em. Now what do you see?

Pinocchio:   Spots.

Honest John: Now, that heart.
           Ooh, my goodness!
           A palpating syncopation of the killer diller
           with a wicky-wacky stomping of the floy joy.
           (TO GIDEON) Quick, Doctor, that report!
           This makes it perfectly clear!
           My boy, you are allergic.

Pinocchio:   Allergic?

Honest John: Yes, and there is only one cure.
           A vacation on Pleasure Island!













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