Episode 40: The Ripping Friends go to Arby's

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Friends nigh brain-dead will be in want of roast meat.

Whatever the thoughts or feelings of the restaurateur upon seeing cretins bumble into his establishment, such Friends invariably assume that truth to be so well fixed in his mind, in all minds, that they consider it nothing short of their own generosity to order as much meat as they could manage.

"My good garçon," said one uncircumsized Friend to our poor man, "have you heard that we haven't enjoyed any meat since yesterday?"

Our man - Mr. Arby we shall call him - replied that he hadn't.

"But we haven't," interjected another rockier Friend, "and we are, I think we all agree, in dire, no desperate need of protein and sustenance."

Mr. Arby shifted uncomfortably, and was about to ask what sort of sustenance would be their pleasure, when yet another Friend (for there were four in total) felt need to air his grievances.

"Do you know what we want?" he impatiently began, "because I believe you do very well, and I'm embarrassed that you'd force us to say it aloud to vulgar ears." He paused here to let Mr. Arby shift once more. "It seems to me that the restaurant establishment in this country has descended to such a sad state of affairs, that hungry - indeed famished - Friends such as we can enter this dillapidated establishment and have vacuous eyes look into ours and fail utterly to acknowledge our right as customers: our right as customers to be served with a smile, with attention, and with courtesy."

He continued in such strain for some time while Mr. Arby continued to shift his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortably casting his eyes at the growing attention paid to the angry Friends. At last, he interposed with a sharp clearing of his throat.

"Sir," he began with an affected steadiness, "our policy is that we ask, without assumptions or pride or prejudice, our guests what meal they would like to eat. Your responsibility is to tell us, and your right is to receive your food promptly and with Arby's quality carrying it along the cooking process."

The Friends, some sheepish, some bewildered, looked at each other before the last Friend who had not spoken, the chunkiest of the four, looked with steady gaze into the espresso eyes of Mr. Arby and said slowly, "We want roast beef."

Mr. Arby nodded, and asked if they would like fries and drinks with their sandwiches.

The friends again looked at each other, vaguely confused and vaguely insulted by Mr. Arby. The chunky friend said, again slowly, "We don't want a sandwich. By 'roast beef,' we mean a manwich."

Mr. Arby blinked twice, attempting to register these words in his mind.

Another Friend spoke to assist him. "And by 'manwich,' we don't mean a sloppy joe, we mean a big juicy man sandwich."

The true intent of these Friends and their hungered quest for 'roast meat' finally manifested in the restaurateur's mind. Their intent was not food or meat as Mr. Arby was accustomed to serve, but carnal fucking.

Fun Fact: This episode was ghost written by Jane Austen