"So McGillicutty, he looks at the corpse, thinks fer a tick, an' turns ta Chuck - oh, hey, ya know Chuck's a squaw? Short fer N'gozichukwuka. Shoulda started with 'er full name, so ya'd know from the get-go she's a broad - never known many skirts could handle an RPG, but Chuck..."
Al had been regaling his new friend for the last fifteen minutes, but his corpse-in-rusty-chains voice had thus far elicited nary a grunt nor a twitch from his stolid audience. All that was about to change.
"Anyhoo, Mac looks at the stiff, then looks over at Chuck - all frowny an' dour as usual, not completely unlike yerself, Hawaiian kemo sabe - an Mac says in his deep fuckin' Scottish brogue, 'Ya know Chuck lass, thass not a knife...that's a bleedin' banana.'"
Al gave it about two seconds to sink in, and the Peanut Brudder and Jelly's International House of Spam cook erupted into a cataclysm of mirth. Fell off his upturned plastic milk crate and onto the greasy floor. Laughed until his couldn't breathe - just the way Chuck had - and Al joined him, hoots and guffaws echoing off the carnation-laden wood plank walls.
When they finally calmed down, the fat islander got up and came to the counter with two cold beers. Stuck out a meaty hand. "Haoa."
"Well haoa back at ya. That's g'bye an' hello both, right?"
"It's my name, haole."
"Alrighty, then, pleased ta meet ya, Haoa. Alouicious Harlan Guthrie, esquire, at yer service."
