“OK, dude, I got a question.”
“Is it burnin’?”
“Well, I suppose it’s kinda a hot topic …”
“Gnarly! Here, lemme throw this bucket a water on it …”
“Dude?”
“What?”
“Siddown! Ya douse yer dinner like that, we’ll both be sorry. After I spent all this damn time grillin’ tha stuff.”
“Sheesh, dude. I didn’ know ya meant literally!”
“Yah right. Pay ‘tention next time.”
“Dude, I got all the tension I need. What’s yer question already?”
“How d’ya pronounce tha ‘L’ in ‘salmon’?”
“Wit’ a lot a imagination.”
“Yeah? How’s that work?”
“Ya imagine like it ain’t there. So ya c’n ignore it.”
“So it really is, like, ‘sammon’?”
“It really is, like, sammon, dude. See? That wuz easy.”
“But …”
“But what?”
“Why Sam?”
“Huh?!?”
“Why Sam!? Why not Fred, or George, or Sean, or Damitri?”
“Dude, are you fer real?”
“Why not? Fer that matter, why mon? Surely they ain’t all dudes? If’n they were, how’n’hell ya gonna get more a ’em? Shouldn’t at least some be, like, Abigirl?”
“It’s on account a b’cause a tha green eggs, dude.”
“Tha what?”
“Tha green eggs, dude. This dude Sam-I-Am was gettin’ real sick of ’em. I dunno how he ‘r nobody got into tha green ham. All that mold ‘n stuff, eww. But he got himself to tha Pacific Northwest and found out about these fish. Nom nom, dude. An’ so he started pushin’ them instead. Named ’em after himself, seein’ as how his name was, like, already out there. SalmIAmon. Wasn’t too long afore folk kinda shortened tha name ta make it more, like, handy. Presto. Salmon.”
“But the ‘L’, dude?”
“Dude was tryin’ ta be cute. Ya know, like spellin’ tha dog’s name Phideaux? Got away wit’ it too, looks like.”
“Dude?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this, like, tha truth? Story sounds a bit, like, fishy ta me.”
“[…] BWA-hahahahaha!!!”
“Aw, shaddap.”
I think there may be some green ham in our fridge. The dudes are welcome to it. They’d best leave Sam’s fish alone or I’ll beat the L out of them.