Broccoli.
Three scientists—Papaia, Banani, and Ravioli—and their assistant Igor work at the NASAL observatory. They come across some interesting books and start getting into creationism. But their bosses don’t like this new interest and send them to take a psychological test, which they must pass to keep their jobs. But the psychologist, Professor Faggioli, determined to get them fired, does everything he can to make them look insane.
We are in Professor Faggioli’s office, where Ravioli is being evaluated.
Faggioli: Anyway, dear Ravioli, we can try to manage the effects of your stress eating, but to do so, it’s important to understand its origins and reasons, so we can resolve this little psychological issue of yours.
Ravioli: I didn’t think this was a psychological problem…
Faggioli: Unfortunately, it is, Ravioli. Unfortunately, it is. Anyway… Tell me. When was the first time you became aware of your stress eating?
Ravioli (scratching his chin): Let me think… Ah, yes! It was when I was eight. My parents put me on a diet. They made me eat dishes made of broccoli.
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Ravioli makes a disgusted face.
Faggioli (interested): Broccoli? Did you say broccoli?
Ravioli: Yes, exactly, broccoli.
Faggioli: Broccoli? Those delicious, wholesome green vegetables?
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Ravioli: Ah, I wish I could see it that way too, professor. But the truth is, I hate broccoli. I’ve never liked them, and I’ve never been able to stand them!
Faggioli (astonished): But, Ravioli… how can you say such a thing? Don’t you know broccoli are tasty and good for you?
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Ravioli: Now, professor, you’ve just used the same words my mom would say when she forced me to swallow those horrible green bites! I almost threw up.
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Faggioli: Now, now, Raviolino! You’re really trying to make me angry! Didn’t I just tell you broccoli are delicious and healthy?
Ravioli: Professor, you just called me Raviolino… Just like my mom does!
Faggioli: You see, Ravioli, this isn’t a matter of taste or opinion. Broccoli… you have to eat them!
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Ravioli (confused): I’m not so sure, professor…
Faggioli: What you’re telling me is very serious! Don’t you realize your mother was right?
Ravioli (alarmed): What? What’s this about?
Faggioli: Don’t you know? Ah, never mind. You said your mom used to force you to eat broccoli. Tell me how it went.
Ravioli: Well, there’s not much to say. At lunchtime, I ate at afterschool care, but dinner… Dinner was the worst. Dinnertime would come, and on the table, there were always… broccoli! And if I didn’t finish the whole plate, I’d get punished.
Faggioli: On your knees on dry beans or ruler slaps on your hands?
Ravioli: No, Faggioli, what are you saying? My mom never used those kinds of punishments! My punishment was having to listen to endless lectures about how good vegetables are for you.
Faggioli: Ah, I see. Now it’s all clear. I’m starting to understand why you’ve ended up in such bad shape! It was actually your mom who was too soft.
Ravioli: Am I really in such bad shape, professor?
Time passes, and Faggioli continues his lecture… I mean, his session with Ravioli.
Faggioli: And yet, you like pizza…
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Ravioli: Exactly! How did you guess?
Faggioli: I know your type all too well!
Ravioli: Now that I think about it, I’m hungry.
Faggioli: And you’d like a nice pizza, thick, dripping with cheese and oil, topped with plenty of spicy salami slices… right?
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Ravioli: Ah, my favorite… but at this time, the pizzeria is closed.
Faggioli: It’s only nine in the morning…
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Ravioli: Ah, but there’s that bakery downtown…
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Faggioli: Or maybe a big hamburger… double, or triple… loaded with sauces… an absurd amount of fried bacon and cheddar…
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Ravioli: Professor, don’t tempt me like that. It’s only nine in the morning. The fast-food places are only serving breakfast at this hour…
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Faggioli: Of course, Ravioli, you like these things. And do you know why?
Ravioli (interested): I don’t know, Professor. Why?
Faggioli: You like them because they’re… JUNK!
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Ravioli jumps, startled by Faggioli’s shout.
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Faggioli: Can’t you see it? You’re missing out on good, wholesome broccoli dishes, which are great for your body and mind, and instead, you’re putting garbage into your body! Things that harm you, make you gain weight, and bloat your stomach like a balloon!
Ravioli: Yeah, but pizzas and hamburgers are… so good!
Faggioli: Good? And you call that stuff good?
Ravioli: I don’t know, Professor. Maybe you’re right…
Faggioli: Maybe? Do you even realize what that junk has done to you? Have you looked in the mirror? Haven’t you seen how fat and ugly you’ve become? And let’s not even talk about your arteries—surely clogged with cholesterol!
Ravioli starts crying.
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Faggioli: But broccoli, now those are good! That’s what I call a healthy food! Ah, broccoli! They bring back so many childhood memories. Did you know, Ravioli, that I was a little rebel like you, refusing to eat broccoli? But then my father… Ah, my father…
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Faggioli gets lost for a moment in childhood memories.
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Faggioli: … My father used to smack my hands with a ruler. Oh yes! That worked. I remember evenings spent kneeling on dry beans, nights locked in the storage closet. Hungry, in the dark, and without dinner. And let me tell you… crying and screaming didn’t help one bit!
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Faggioli pauses, gets up, and looks at the wall, pretending it’s a window. Then he resumes his monologue.
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Faggioli: And look at me now! Look at my body—slim, athletic, and full of health.
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… Look at my mind—sharp, sound, and disciplined.
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…And who deserves the credit?
Faggioli pulls out the old sock he uses as a puppet—his friend Tony.
Tony: I don’t know, Faggioli. Who deserves the credit?
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Faggioli: BROCCOLI!
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Tony: And the beatings! Ah, ah, ah!
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Faggioli: Yes, exactly, broccoli and the beatings!
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Ravioli has pulled himself together.
Ravioli: You’re right, Faggioli. I’m a mess!
Faggioli: Good, good, good. I see we’re making progress. Right, Tony?
Tony: Ah, ah, ah! The fatty is making progress… Ah, ah, ah! Careful he doesn’t overdo it… Ah, ah, ah! Because he’s fat! Ah, ah, ah!
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Faggioli (encouragingly): But let’s get back to you, dear Ravioli… Go on, you were telling me about the first time you felt this nervous hunger…
Igor later commented: On one hand, Ravioli realized he was a mess. On the other hand, Faggioli didn’t realize he was one bad day away from being a full-on psychopath. Which one would you choose?
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