The White Stripes

“Ron, what on earth is that smell? It’s everywhere!”

“You want a burger or you want to puke? If it’s puke, go over there. Don’t barf on my meat.”

“Krezner was getting worried about a cholera outbreak. Or E. Coli. I don’t know what. It’s hideous.”

“It’s better than how you smell. Be quick, pal. I got customers waiting with less refined palates than yourself.”

“It’s driving me crazy. I can’t figure out if I want to eat it or vomit. Just tell me what it is.”

“Well, business has been good lately, so we’re running low on rat. The Z’s are picking off the deer and the cattle are long gone. So I need something that’s like rat, but not a rat. C’mon. Figure it out. Haven’t you seen all the kids with coonskin caps running around lately?”

“Yeah. That damn Davy Crockett brigade. I can’t stand those little brats.”

“Did you see the what the new kids have to wear until they’ve passed their trials? The black and white tail? That single white stripe? It would be a shame to let all that perfectly good meat go to waste.”

“No–oh my God… …Well, I guess I’ll just have one then. Make it a small one, though.”

“That’ll be five silver. They’re half price until I can get them filleted just right.”

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