So I'm at this burger shack with my cousin, snacking out on a fish-burger, when I chomp down through the browned sesame seed bun onto something hard. I pry the offending item out of the gob of food in my mouth, and wouldn't you know it, it's a plastic name tag attached to some gristly fish skin.

I shuck the tag over, and roger me senseless with a politically incorrect sex toy if it doesn't say 'FLIPPER'.

So now I'm pissed!

Flipper has got to be about a thousand years old by now, and nothing pisses me off more than paying premium funds for non-premium merchandise. I mean I'd like to know that my meal at least put up a fight!!! Shit, Flipper probably hit the driftnet and eased on into the afterlife, no struggle, nothing.

I slip the magnum out of the waistband of my Cardene riding shorts and ease it on over the counter, butt first.

"What's that for?" the grease jockey asks?

"Well, I figured if you were going to rob me, you may as well do a good job of it" I counter

My cousin nods. He's good at that. Got his doctorate in it. After his Masters in Sighing and the Bachelor of Shrugging.

Grease Jockey looks at me, looks at my Cousin, who shrugs just to let people know that those three years of study are being employed, then looks back at me.

"What do you mean?" he asks, confused.

"The fishburger!" I shout "Look!"

I pass over the bun encrusted tag.

"Hey wow, Flipper! Is he still around?"

"Yeah" I mutter "AROUND $3.75 a portion! Which really PISSES ME OFF, because he's about 100 years old now and not even very tasty!"

"Shit I'm sorry" he says disheartened, then turns away and shows his co-jockey the tag "Flipper..."

"We cooked flipper!" The guy cries in anguish

I decide to wind down the emotion a couple of Deci-Sobs.

"HEY! It's not like you cooked him WELL or anything, he was still mostly raw in the middle!"

"We half-cooked Flipper?" Grease Jockey sobs, getting in on his worker's act.

"IT'S JUST A BLOODY FISH!" I shout, trying to maintain (or assume) control "Actually, it's not very BLOODY at all, and I distinctly remember asking for a rare fishburger"

"They don't come much rarer than Flipper" my cousin chips. A beautiful chip too, onto the green with a short putt to the hole.

He laughs.

I laugh.

Grease Jockey and Assistant cry.

"HEY!" I cry "Where's my refund?"

"Sorry" Grease Jockey says, all business now "We're not allowed to give refunds. Although we can give you a meal of the same value"

"Ok." I say "Givvus a Seal-burger. Baby"

"We don't do them"

"Bambi Burger. Got any fresh venison?"

"Don't have any"

"What about Bald Eagle Burger?" my cousin slips in

"None. Hey, don't you guys CARE about nature?" Grease Jockey asks

"Only when it calls" I answer

"Aren't you afraid that one day it'll all end, you'll just check out, leaving nothing but destruction in your wake?"

"Where do I put my name down" my cousin asks, taking the initiative

"Don't you want to leave something behind?"

"Yeah" I say "The only copy of the latest Jerry Garcia album. It's called 'Jerry Garcia - Unplugged' - 47.5 minutes of "BEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."

They cry, we leave.

There's no talking to some people.

AND I'm still hungry...