“Oh my God, I can’t eat any more! I told you this place was incredible. Hey waitress, can you please bring out the check when you get the chance?” Donald asked.
“Yes, of course,” the waitress replied.
“You really wiped that plate clean, didn’t you, Frank?”
“Don, when I eat this good at a place like Red Robin, you know I am not going to be taking home a doggy bag!”
Don and Frank both laughed too hard at this mildly humorous statement but their laughter stopped as the waitress placed the check on the table equidistant between the two of them.
“And will we be needing the ruler this evening, gentleman?” she asked.
Both men stared holes through the other’s eyes, daring the other to speak first.
“We should be fine, Marta. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Donald said icily.
“Great!” Marta said, rushing to deal with her other tables.
The two men stared at one another in silence for what seemed like an eternity until one of the brave souls decided to begin the battle.
“Now, I know what you’re going to say, Don. That I paid last time.”
“You did pay last time, Frank. And you did that chickenshit move where you told the waiter to give you the check while I was in the bathroom.”
“I only did that because you paid the time before by hacking my credit card so that you could pay the remaining balance instead of me!”
“Frank, you know that was a more than proportionate response after you hired mobsters to kidnap my wife and children so I would have to go pay them ransom money while you stayed behind and paid the check!”
The men had seemingly reached a stalemate. That was before Frank lunged out and grabbed for the check but was unable to pull it in before Donald grabbed the other end. The tug of war lasted for 15 minutes as the two men of nearly comparable strength refused to let go.
“Hey guys, just checking in! Are we still sure about not needing the ruler tonight?” asked Marta.
Both men, recognizing that this battle would not be decided by brawn, released the check in the middle of the table.
“Bring out the ruler,” Frank muttered inaudibly, ashamed it had come to this.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I SAID BRING IT OUT.”
A hush fell over the eatery as Marta scurried to retrieve the ruler. Neither Frank nor Donald was willing to look the other in the eye. Both knew that their 30-year friendship had reached its conclusion in this Red Robin tonight. A crowd began to gather around their table in anticipation for what was about to come next, with some making wagers and others holding their kids up on their shoulders so they had a better view.
Marta had to fight her way through the assembled patronage in order to reach the table.
“Gentleman, are we ready?”
Both men grunted affirmatively in reply.
“Are we familiar with the rules?”
“C’mon, we all know what the rules are, just get to it!” yelled one of the onlookers.
Both men stood up and came around to the same side of the table. Marta placed the ruler between the two men and with a simple nod, the two men began to remove their belts.
It did not take long for both men to plop their penises onto the table to measure which one was larger, but it was instantly apparent that a ruler was not necessary. Donald’s penis was five times the size of Frank’s, and those who had placed bets on Frank were visibly furious. Most of the assembled crowd began to laugh at the comical nature of Frank’s tiny penis. A five-year-old sitting atop his father’s shoulders pointed at the penis and said, “Even mine is bigger than his!” which received many guffaws and shouts of “Good show!” from the audience.
Marta reached between the two penises to retrieve the check as she gave it to Donald for having the bigger penis which, according to the universal laws of nature, meant that he was the one who should rightfully pay for the meal since he was the alpha male. Donald refused to look at Frank. He did not delight in his victory, for he knew there was no coming back from such a humiliation for his former friend. Tradition held that the loser of this duel had to commit seppuku immediately after such a defeat. A tear ran down Frank’s cheek as his face contorted into a twisted, manic smile.
“THE JOKE IS ON HIM ACTUALLY! HE IS THE ONE WHO HAS TO PAY! I DON’T HAVE TO PAY! I DON’T HAVE TO KEEP GETTING SHIT FROM THE IRS FOR PAYING FOR HIGH-CLASS MEALS I CAN’T AFFORD! THIS IS GOOD FOR ME ACTUALLY!”
The crowd murmured disappointedly. It was customary for the loser of such a contest to handle their loss with more grace and humility. It was just sad to watch Frank embarrass himself even further than revealing to a crowd of fifty people that he had a tiny lil’ shrimp penis that was clearly incapable of satisfying any woman, no matter how small her vagina was or how low her standards were.
Donald placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Stand down, brother,” he said.
Marta made her way through the crowd yet again. This time, she emerged holding a samurai sword.
“I can’t believe I am going to see a live disembowelment,” said the five-year-old boy.
“Don’t get too excited, son. There isn’t much bowel for him to dismember,” the father joked, which drew even more laughs than before.
Marta unsheathed the sword and extended it for Frank to take.
“Sir,” she said.
“It is time.”