- NEW YORK, N.Y.
Dr. Dante Infernopedeo, chief spokesman for Bonsanto Del Diablo Hospital, unveiled a formaldehyde-preserved preemie display on his front lawn, dubbing it "a whimsical tribute to medical innovation." He staunchly defended the hospital's practice of dosing neonatal babies with various alcohols, claiming it’s standard procedure. The heavy use of aspartame on premature infants, he noted, is "100% FDA-approved."
"Look, these babies were probably better off terminated," Dr. Infernopedeo said, clutching a diet orange soda. "Their mothers mistreated them in utero, so we’re doing them a solid by keeping them perpetually sloshed." He estimated the infants down the equivalent of a daily case of beer, scaled to their pint-sized bodies.
Infernopedo elaborated, "We warn pregnant women off booze, but once their preemies are in our hands, it’s our call. Hospitals are dreary, so we jazz things up with that glorious methanol jolt from aspartame. It’s a neonatal rave!" He took a long swig of his soda, emitting a gleeful belch.
When asked about long-term risks for the babies, Dr. Infernopedeo smirked. "We’re counting on these kids growing up to bring us more preemies. It’s a beautiful cycle that keeps America’s healthcare system the most vibrant on Earth."
Spellbound by the doctor’s revelations and his dismantling of aspartame myths, I hurried home, popped open a case of diet orange soda, and sank into a TV binge, toasting to medical progress.
Hours later, as my vision blurred and the room dimmed, panic set in. The methanol byproduct of my aspartame-fueled spree was blinding me, a cruel twist straight from Dr. Infernopedeo’s playbook. As I groped for the phone to dial for help, I couldn’t help but admire the hospital’s foresight—they’d hooked me into their cycle too.
