"Do you, like, ever let people into your meat-locker to, like, uh, you know,
fuck around with the meat?" I asked.
The short-haired Greek man looked at me strangely from behind the counter.
Several of the waitresses glared in my direction.
"What you mean 'fuck around'?" the dumpy Greek asked.
"You know, like shovin' your dick in and out of the openings in the meat.
Then, like, getting a bunch of smelly, sticky cream of tubesteak all over the
junk that you grind into foodburgers," I informed him.
"Naw. We don't do that. You don't do that. Nobody do that," the imbecile
claimed.
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