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"Now, now, unnamed biological father, do not quote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