“So…” Schwarz Tauptinker said, seemingly unhappy. “Where’s the dinner? Chickit!”
Daddy Salami looked across the dirty, wooden table. “Ya shut up an’ wait! Ruber be home any minute with da supper.”
“You know,” Schwarz said, “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known there was no dinner.”
“Quiet, cur-face!” Salami yelled. “A poor weary traveler can always get a bit to eat at Daddy Salami’s Hut! Dinner will come!”
Schwarz didn’t seem convinced. “Why should I believe you? ‘Cause…I don’t know why!”
“Daddy Salami never lies, ya turtle. And when I do, ya can’t tell that I did! Hehaha!”
Then Schwarz said something he probably shouldn’t have.
And he said it quickly.
Without caring about the consequences.
“I hate how you laugh.”
Salami’s mouth dropped open. “Vhat?”
“Yeah.” And Schwarz had the gall to say it again. “I think your laugh is sick, and I don’t know why you laugh like a vulture.”
“A vulture?” Salami said warningly.
“Yeah…” And Schwarz proceeded to copy Salami’s laugh. “That’s what a vulture sounds like.”
Salami laughed and stood. “Vultures are always hovering over a dead body…”
“But there’s none here, chickit!”
“Yet.” Salami grabbed a long knife.
And that’s when the door opened and Ruber entered the hut.
“What the heck, eh?” he said, upon seeing Salami with a knife. “Put that down, dad.”
Surprisingly, Salami listened.
“What’d ya bring fer dinner, son?”
“Yeah,” Schwarz said, “we’re starving. At least, that’s what my belly tells me.”
Salami looked at Ruber. “Don’t embarrass your daddy, Ruber. When a guest comes you’re expected to have dinner ready!”
“Sheesh,” Ruber said with a wave of his hand. “I’m going out with Manly-Man tonight. You’re on your own. Make your own dinner.”
Daddy Salami picked the knife up again.