007, an aged and overweight Sean Connery lays on a table, naked, with a paper hospital gown draped over his crotch and prodigious pannus.

It wasn't the scotch itself, per se. It was how madly hungry the blessed scotch made him!

With the many-tentacled laparoscopy robot fully booted and engaged, its laser crosshairs pointed somewhere between Bond's rolls where there was a small draft that somehow made him self-conscious, Bond queried Dr. Now once more, in part because he wasn't sure if he had already asked.

"Do you expect me to only eat small portions and count calories as though my very charm depended upon it, doctor?"

Dr. Now was quite focused on the normally routine remaining steps requiring his direct involvement. It was important that this succeed. Looking through his soft, comfortable stereo display (precisely adjusted for his hight), he absently responded.

"No, Mr. Bond. I don't think you really trying very hard. No, I expect you to try Mr. Bond. Mkay?"