“Hey,” the dark-haired guy exclaimed; “anybody here try to eat Crisco?”
The two girls grimaced in unison, but the blond guy bobbed his head. “Oh, man, that shit is nasty!”
“I dunno,” the first guy — the jockier-looking of the two — continued. “I mean, it looks like Kool Whip, but you know—”
“—it’s not,” his preppier buddy concluded.
“Yeah, I know: it’s not.” The two nodded affirmingly at each other while the girls chewed and smiled.
Preppy Guy took a slurp of his malt, then gestured with it. “One time, when I was a kid, I walked up to the kitchen counter, and there was this can which I assumed to be tuna, so I tasted it, and it was just godawful. And upon further inspection it was cat food.”
The other three joined in a chorus of groans, then laughed.
“Anybody ever eat a dog biscuit?” Jock Guy asked. The others all shook their heads. Conversation lulled for a minute as they all stared at the television mounted on the far wall.
Jock Guy took big bite of his burger and after a couple of quick chews began to talk around it. “Did anybody see that Dateline about those two guys out in Arizona, who got like two thousand dollars worth of like, tubes and beakers and stuff, and they made like, sixteen million, just making the shit right in their dorm room?”
“Wow, that’s quite a profit.”
“Yeah, and the only reason they got caught was that they bragged about it to other kids; that and they filmed themselves not only making it, but taking it.”
Preppy Guy shook his head sadly. “How can someone be that smart, and do something that dumb?”
