"You gonna be alright there, honey?" Dr. Andrew Wolfe, who had been drowning himself in increasingly potent glasses of Aldebaran whiskey -- he was well into the darker green hues of the libation by now -- looked up to the direction of the voice that had addressed him. Through his blurred vision, he made out the lovely vision of the waitress who had been bringing him the beverages all evening, decked in her skimpy, lighted uniform. "What happened?" asked the waitress, naively. Dr. Wolfe smirked. "Thanks," he offered, weakly. "No," said the increasingly irate Dr. Wolfe, "but your mother does!"