'Are those eyeballs in the jar?'
'No, pickled eggs.'
'Shame. I do so like an eyeball with my battered jumbo sausage and chips.'
'Have a pickled egg,' suggested Mick.
'Begging you pardon?' said Larry.
'Live a little! Walk on the wild side! Push those boundaries to the limit! Have a-'
'Are you egging me on?'
'That I am, friend Larry. And despite my limited ability to draw breath at present, due to holding back a veritable avalanche of guffaws at your egg-related punnage, I still retain the lung capacity to posit the question of when you last partook of the aforementioned savoury snack...?'
'When did I last have a pickled egg?'
'That is my query, friend Larry.'
'You mean apart from during my initiation into the Brotherhood Of Wigwams In Need Of Rugs?'
'Did that involved pickled eggs?'
'Then yes, apart from that time.'
'In all truth, I do not recall. Perhaps not since the wild and reckless days of my youth.'
'Do you want a pickled egg or what?' said the man behind the counter of Chips For Chavs. 'We do have other customers, you know.'
The Other Customers grunted and grumbled and shuffled from foot to foot.
'By Jousting Janis Joplin and her Jack-Knifing Jalloppies, yes!' declared Larry. 'In fact, what the hey, gimme three!'
'Careful there,' said Mick.
'Careful? You have opened my eyes, friend Mick! I shall never eat another eyeball again!
'Don't be too hasty now.'
'Hasty? I have re-discovered the pickled egg! And you, my most dearest of chums, have facilitated my doing so!'
'I could kiss you, friend Mick!'
'Yes, please don't,' said the man behind the counter of Chips For Chavs.
'Do you have a problem with two men demonstrating public displays of purely platonic, non-sexual affection?'
('I do,' said Mick.)
'Not on a football pitch,' said the chip-server. 'But when it involves pickled eggs,' he continued, 'then yes,' he concluded, 'I do.'
The Other Customers grunted and grumbled and shuffled in an increasingly impatient manner.
Larry and Mick and the chip-server all looked at each other in a Dramatic Pause kind of a way. If they had had guns, it would have been a Mexican Stand-Off. But they didn't.
'Three pickled eggs then?' said the chip-server.
'Make it a dozen,' said Larry. 'And hold the battered jumbo sausage and chips.'
Eggs were wrapped. Wrapped eggs were plonked on the counter. Money was exchanged for goods.
'Pickled egg freak,' said the chip-server, as Larry and Mick left the shop.
'Not so much.'
'There's a bin.'
[ FIN ]