Friday Afternoon

Allan stared into his barren fridge, sifting through the bottles of mustard, bbq sauce, and all other imaginable condiments. Strange that a person would have copious amounts of condiments and nothing to put those condiments on; unless ofcourse you count a picked through bag of trailmix sans smarties. He looks frustrated, perturbed, as he pushes around a jar of salsa.

"I want something, like...uhh liquidy you know? Do you have any money?"

"Do you mean a DRINK al?"

"No baby, I said MMOOONNNNNEEEEYYYY!"