There are some guys who sit down facing me in the restaurant and they don't say anything, they stay around a while, because they've decided to eat.
Here's one.
I grab him, bang.
I regrab him, bang.
I hang him up on the coat hook.
I unhook him.
I hang him up again.
I re-unhook him.
I lay him out on the table, I mash him and choke him.
I smear him, I inundate him.
He comes to.
I rinse him off, I stretch him out (I'm starting to get on my own nerves, this has got to stop), I squash him, I put the screws to him, I condense him and insert him into my glass, and ostentatiously pitch the contents onto the ground, and say to the waiter, "Get me a clean glass."
But I feel ill, I pay the check promptly and I get out.