truth

Jimmy, the adopted boy, walks into the fine burger

establishment and has himself a hard, plastic seat. He has a

white rose and a copy of The Way Things Work in his

hands. A middle-aged couple walks in, sees him, and moves to sit

across from him.

"Greetings, long lost son." Says the father.

"Hello, mother. Salutations, father. So you are my

biological parents that I am meeting for the first time in this

fine burger establishment."

"You are correct in that observation." Says the

mother.

"I am glad of it." Replies the son.

"That is my boy." Adds the father.

"Well, only in a strictly genetic sense, father." Says

the son to the father.

Magically, food appears in front of them.

"This burger is exquisite" says the son.

"I agree, the patty is juicy and the sesame seed buns

reflect the sunlight in more than oriental splendour." Says the

father.

"Now, now, unnamed biological father, do not quote

Rudyard Kipling at the dinner table." Cautions the

mother.

"Dinner table? This is not a dinner table! It is a

madhouse! A madhouse I tell you. A madhouse is what this table

is." Explains the son, in disgust.

"You are driving my emotions wild!" blathers the

mother.

"Truth be told, my emotions are being driven wild as

well." Agrees the father.

"Well, perhaps it is you who are driving and I who is

the emotional party." Retorts the son.

Ketchup and French fries fly through the air, reflecting the

chaotic nature of the encounter.

"This encounter is of a chaotic nature." Observes the

father.

"Agreed." Agree the son and mother in unison.

"There’s a finger in my hamburger!" exclaims the

father.

"Wahhhhhhhhhhhh! Indeed there is." Notes the

son.

"Well, I’ll be." concludes the mother.

Fin.