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(Wednesday morning, INT: Overdrive Computers back room.)

LH (looking at a website): Apparently they have a free thing at St. Jude's that does breast ultrasounds every weekend on a walk-in basis, but they ask that you set aside the whole day, since if they find anything, they do a biopsy, same appointment.
GU: What, like they take a core sample?
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LH: Tell ya what. If we all go on Sunday, I'll spring for massages afterwards.
EB: I don't know if I'd want to lie on my breasts after I'd finished having them squished and probed, certainly not if they take a chunk out of me.
GU: Hnnnnnnnnn.
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LH: If they take a chunk out of any of us, I will also spring for ice cream. Or liquor, as we deem appropriate.
EB: And I shall assume the whole time you'll be attempting to arrange female ultrasounders, female masseuses, and female ice cream scoopers-slash-bartenders?
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LH: Actually, when it comes to massages, I prefer men. I like to order them not to talk, and I close my eyes, and I pretend their big sturdy hands are actually sophisticated robot manipu-
EB and GU (in unison, plugging their ears and closing their eyes): LA LA LA LA LA