(SCENE: an upscale restaurant in the western suburbs of Minneapolis. LITTLE NICKY PUNTO, CARL PAVANO'S MUSTACHE, THE FUTILE BRENDAN HARRIS, KIRBY THE KESTREL and JIM THOME enter the restaurant. The concierge greets them.)
CONCIERGE: Good evening, gentlemen. Table for five, yes?
LNP: Yes!
(LNP slides headfirst into concierge, knocking him senseless.)
HARRIS: Nick, what the hell?
LNP: Gotta show intensity, get to the table no matter what! GET MONEY GET PAID LNP! Why do you think I got that embroidered on this sweet-ass satin jacket? (LNP turns to show the back of his sweet-ass satin jacket, which does indeed have "Get Money Get Paid LNP" sewn in cursive script across the shoulders.)
PAVSTACHE: I like your style, kid. Used to have a coat like that back when I was pitching rookie ball. Broads couldn't resist. I tell you, the getaway sticks on this one redhead...
KIRBY: CAW CHIRP! CHIRP!
LNP: Hey guys, guys! Table for five right there LET'S GO.
(They walk/fly/slide to the table. On the way, HARRIS trips on his untied shoelace, falls into a table and causes a platter of sizzling hot fajitas to horribly burn a family of four.)
HARRIS: Oops. Umpire probably untied it. Friggin' blue. Sorry.
(The Twins memes take their seats. A waiter approaches.)
WAITER: Hello, sirs, my name is Max and I'll be serving you this evening. Would you like to hear about our specials?
JT: NO. JIMJAM MASHES TATERS ALL DAY, BUT HE WANTS A BLOOMIN ONION TONIGHT, WITH SAUCES FOR DIPPING.
WAITER: We don't have that item on our menu, sir.
JT: THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE.
WAITER: Sorry, sir, but I think that's at the Outback Steakhouse.
JT: ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS SOAK AN ONION IN WATER, COAT IT IN BATTER, POP IT IN THE DEEP FAT FRYER, AND JIMJAM HAS A BLOOMIN ONION. GET ONE TO SOAKING, I'LL WAIT RIGHT HERE.
WAITER: I will see what the kitchen staff can do.
JT: SEE THAT YOU DO.
WAITER: And for--sir, you can't smoke in here.
(PAVSTACHE is smoking an unfiltered Lucky Strike.)
PAVSTACHE: Listen, Jennifer...
WAITER: It's Max, sir, my name is Max.
PAVSTACHE: OK, Mary, the thing is, some days you just need a heater to relax before, during and after meals.
WAITER: That's fine, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to do so outside in our designated smoking area.
PAVSTACHE: Alright, whatever, Either way, get me a steak, bloody as hell, and some black coffee in a paper cup. I'm gonna go smoke.
(PAVSTACHE adjusts the wide-knotted tie on his short-sleeve dress shirt, throws his rumpled, brown sports coat over his shoulder, and goes outside.)
KIRBY: CHIRP! CHIRP CAW!
WAITER: Pardon me?
KIRBY: CHIRP! CHIRP CAW!
WAITER: I don't understand.
LNP: He wants a plate of worms with a side of crickets, dude.
WAITER: Oh. I can't say that that's something we offer, either.
KIRBY: CHIRP! CAW CHIRP CHIRP!
LNP: Escargot, then. Snails GET YOU INTENSE!
KIRBY: CAW!
WAITER: alright, escargot it is, then. And for you, sir?
LNP: pitcher of Red Bull, some eye black, and sunflower seeds. GET MONEY.
WAITER: none of those things are on our menu.
LNP: there's a Super America across the parking lot, right?
WAITER: yes.
LNP: I'M GETTING AFTER IT.
(LNP leaves table, slides headfirst out the nearest door.)
WAITER: And you, sir?
(HARRIS opens menu, the metal tip on the corner flies into the WAITER'S right eye, causes him to stumble backwards into the kitchen and starts a flash fire. The restaurant burns to the ground. Gardy blames Danny Valencia.)
THE END