'I should know, but I don't, so I have to ask,' said Maggie, 'what's the most famous thing you ever wrote?' 'It was about a funeral for a great French chef.' 'That sounds interesting.' 'All the great chefs in the world are there. It's a beautiful ceremony.' Trout was making this up as he went along. 'Just before the casket is closed, the mourners sprinkle parsley and paprika on the deceased.' So it goes. 'Did that really happen?' said Maggie White. She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies. Men looked at her and wanted to fill her up with babies right away. She hadn't had even one baby yet. She used birth control. 'Of course it happened,' Trout told her. 'If I wrote something that hadn't really happened, and I tried to sell it, I could go to jail. That's fraud!' Maggie believed him. 'I'd never thought about that before.' 'Think about it now.' 'It's like advertising. You have to tell the truth in advertising, or you get in trouble.' 'Exactly. The same body of laws applies.' 'Do you think you might put us in a book sometime?' 'I put everything that happens to me in books.' 'I guess I better be careful what I say.' 'That's right. And I'm not the only one who's listening. God is listening, too. And on Judgment Day he's going to tell you all the things you said and did. If it turns out they're bad things instead of good things, that's too bad for you, because you'll bum forever and ever. The burning never stops hurting.'
Poor Maggie turned gray. She believed that too, and was petrified. Kilgore Trout laughed uproariously. A salmon egg flew out of his mouth and landed in Maggie's cleavage.