A short argument with a side of junkfood.
Scene: Boy and girl in moving truck enroute from Chicago to Seattle.
Time: 11 a.m.
Place: Somewhere in Wisconsin
Girl: (gazing out passenger window) "Hold on a minute... did you just see that sign?"
Boy: (driving) "Huh?"
Girl: "That sign. I thought it said something about a... Butterburger."
Boy: "Oh, sure. Culver's. Home of the Butterburger.
Girl: Butterburger? Please! As if those things aren't portable heart attacks anyway... Why do they need to go and add a bunch of butter? Everything is so stupid here. I'm glad I'm leaving.
Boy: Shut yer ignorant pie hole... There's no butter in the burger. They butter the bun. They're good. I used to eat 'em in Madison. We should stop.
Girl: We can't! I mean... well, maybe we could. But we just ate breakfast. No, we can't. Definitely no. Hey! What are you doing?
Boy: I'm pulling over. We can't leave the Midwest until you've eaten a ButterBurger...
Girl: No! You can't make me!
Boy: Oh, wait... But oooh! Look who's driving the truck! Aw, yeah... You know who's driving the truck.
Girl: (unrolling window) I'll throw myself out the door and splatter all over the highway! And I swear I'll do it this time!
Boy: Please. Nobody will notice. You'll get chewed up under the tires and look like standard interstate roadkill in the space of five seconds.
Girl: You're heartless!
Boy: You're bluffing.
(Girl stews. Boy drives.)
Girl: Fine. I'll eat one. But you have to order a chocolate shake and dip your fries in it.
Boy: Bgah! Gross!
Girl: No... good. Seriously. It's like... well... I don't know what it's like. But it's good. It's all, like, fat and sugar and hot and cold and... you know... good. Promise me you'll try it.
Boy: I'll promise no such thing. That's disgusting.
Girl: Fine! Fine, then! You expect me to try your filthy cow patty and you won't even try fries in your shake? You're a bully. You're an awful bully and I'm not eating your stupid, ugly burger.
Boy: Suit yourself. You can sit in the truck while I eat my stupid, ugly burger.
Girl: Good. I like the truck. The truck is my friend.
(Boy gets out of truck and walks toward building.)
Girl: (Shouting after him) Do you hear me? The truck is my friend!
(Girl can see Boy through the glass windowpanes... ordering, paying, gathering condiments. Girl stews, then salivates, licks her lips and leaves the truck. She joins Boy in line as he waits for the order.)
Girl: Mine's no cheese, right?
Boy: Yup. No cheese... chocolate shake on the side.
Girl: What? No fries?
Boy: Fryer's down.
Girl: Mmm. No fries.