Andre and Farley

He grabbed the salt shaker and gingerly sprinkled several granules upon the sweet potato fry he clutched in his other hand. He preferred not to drown his entire serving in higher blood pressure, though he failed to consider the possibility that portioning the seasoning out to individual fries would eventually surpass an initial liberal dumping before he took his first bite. About halfway through, however, he noticed that the spill-off from his deliberate salting was enough to flavor the remainder of the fries, which he found to be quite convenient, because it afforded him to put down the shaker and proceed to shovel the fried goodness into his mouth at a highly accelerated rate.
Upon completion of his snack, he looked up from the grease-stained paper basket and immediately chastised my gastronomic efforts. “Wow, you’re still only halfway through that sandwich? How is that possible?”
He hiccuped and gulped about six ounces of Dr. Pepper.
“We’ve been eating for three minutes, Andre. Are you kidding me? Apart from that, I’ve actually been enraptured by your shameless display of gluttony. I saw your whole process, and I have to admit I found it rather amusing.”
“No, you’re just a girly man. What’s in that sandwich, anyway? Are you still a damn dirty vegetarian?”
“Eh, it was too difficult to deprive myself of the animals I know and love, even though I know exactly how they get from those sweat farms to my plate. That just shows you how much of a man I really am.
Oh, and this is a turkey club. I mostly just ordered it to see if they’d stick those plastic-frilled toothpicks in the individual quarters of sandwich to keep them from falling apart, and I’m not disappointed. They even varied the colors of the plastic! Two orange and two green! I believe a large tip is in order.”
“Remind me why we hang out so much.”

Copper and Bopper

B: Tell me, sheriff, have you an appetite for macaroni?

C: Well no, not particularly. Why do you ask?

B: I was simply operating on a hunch. Do you ever find the idea of macaroni to be appealing?

C: Well, I suppose I do on occasion, though never enough to amount to making myself a batch.

B: What would you say if I were to tell you that there’s a five-gallon vat of macaroni and cheese behind this red velvet curtain?

C: I would tell you that you are surely lying, for that curtain is purple, and appears to be made of a cheaper material than velvet.

B: Those are all semantics, sheriff. Answer my question.

C: Fine, I would say you’re nuts to have wasted that much time making so much pasta, and it probably doesn’t even taste good.

B: Oh sheriff, you are quite wrong. This pasta is the most exquisite and lovingly crafted dish I have ever made.

C: Really son? Well, in that case, I’m intrigued. May I taste your recipe? It’s not often that something like this happens on my beat at 1 am.

B: Yes of course, but you must provide your own spoon.

C: Why would I have a spoon? I’m a beat cop looking for suspicious activity in a dangerous neighborhood on what is usually one of the most crime-ridden nights of the year. I’m surprised at the lull in activity, honestly. Anyway, I have no spoon. Is the deal off?

B: No, of course not. You may use your hands. Or, if you feel creative, you may use your nightstick or your pistol.

C: I’d better go with the nightstick. All right son, let me see that vat of macaroni!

B: Okay, just let me pull on this tasseled rope to part the curtains. Voila! A vat of macaroni the size of a potbelly stove!

C: Mm, consistency is pleasant, temperature is just right. There seems to be something unrecognizable in the sauce. I am by no means a gourmet, but I think you used an exotic ingredient of some kind. In any case, I quite enjoy this dish. Thank you for sharing!

B: The pleasure is all mine, sheriff. Now would you like to pay me the three thousand dollars now or in installments?

C: Uh, excuse me? Three thousand dollars? How on earth did you come up with that exorbitant number, and how could you dare to charge a man in uniform with a pistol and a pair of handcuffs on his belt?

B: It’s no problem, sheriff, I was only joking. I’ll be on my way with my dish. Lucky I installed these casters on the bottom of the platform, so the whole thing can roll away like a cloud. Have a great night, sheriff!

C: Wait son, can I have another taste of that macaroni? It was so good, and I just thought that since you have five gallons of it, one more bite wouldn’t-

B:I’m sorry sheriff, but your first bite was the only freebie. What kind of cash do you have on you?

C: Well, I have a twenty and a couple of fives.

B: Thirty bucks, huh? All right, I’ll give you a man-in-uniform discount. But just this once, you hear me?

C: Yeah yeah, but this time I’m going to use my hands and scoop a bowlful to get my money’s worth.

B: Smart man, using that discount wisely. Tell me, sheriff, how do you intend to stop crime with your hands full of macaroni?

C: I never thought of that, honestly, but I should be finished with it before long.

B: How long does it take to commit a murder?

C: Well, if you’re good it takes no more than a few seconds.

B: So what if someone went off on a murderous rampage while you were loafing around eating macaroni and cheese? How would that reflect upon your badge?

C: I’m banking on the fact that such a terrible occurrence will not happen in the immediate future while I’m savoring this dish. By the way, can you tell me your secret ingredient? I promise I won’t tell anyone.

B: Well, I hate to sound corny, but the secret ingredient is love. Love mixed with LSD and a pint of heroin.

C: Love and LSD and heroin, eh? …

B: Yes sir, top of the line. How are you feeling?

C: I take from the mouth of the innocent the gaping flange of superior intellect and betray the senses to no end.

B: I see it’s kicking in.