“I now call this brainstorming session to ohdah!” Donnie Wahlberg shouted, banging his fist on the table.
“Shaddup, Donnie,” Mark said.
The wastepaper basket was FULL of wastepaper. Everyone was drenched in sweat and irritable already. They’d only been working on ideas for two minutes and already everyone wanted to kill each other. It was like the movie 12 Angry Men, but only 2 men, and just coming up with a vanity name for a garbage restaurant, not being the deciding jury in a case of life or death. But, similar. “I think the first thing we need to decide is what kind of food we want to make,” Donnie said. Mark nodded. Donnie had a good point. They should figure out what kind of food they wanted to make and maybe that would help them come up with a really good name for the restaurant. “Chinese?” Donnie said. “I like Chinese food.”
“You fuckin’ mook,” Mark said. “Chinese food is wicked hahd to make.”
“Sure,” Donnie said. “But then we could call our restaurant The Great Wahlberg of China.”
Damn it if Donnie didn’t make a good point. Fuckin’ Donnie. But they couldn’t open up a Chinese restaurant. What were they, a coupla queahs? Mark just shook his head and gave Donnie a black eye for even thinkin’ about it.
“What about, like, soul food? You know, barbecue and collard greens and stuff like that?” Donnie flinched as if he was about to get hit again.
“What would we call a place like that?”
“That’s not bad, actually.” Mark Wahlberg fired his assistant and scratched his chin and then called his assistant and pleaded with them to come back to work. “Do we know how to make soul food?”
“We don’t know how to make any food, Mahk.”
“Alright, well, write it down. Let’s make sure we consider all our options first.” Mark was a entrepreneur.
“Or,” Donnie said meekly, “I’m just spitballing here, but we do a real farm-to-table locavore kind of thing, all the ingredients sourced from local producers, but, like, nice. A high-end, classy place, where we just serve the food that we want to cook. Diners can choose from one or two seasonal tasting menus. We call it Wahlperg Se.”
Mark Wahlberg beat the shit out of Donnie Wahlberg, put the kid in the hawspital. When Donnie returned to the brainstorming session, Mark ran his hands through his haiah. He was handsome and exhausted from so much brainstorming! “Fuck it,” he finally said. “We’ll open a hamburger restaurant. Call it Wahlburgers.”
“That’s good, Mahk,” Donnie said.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ know it is, Donnie.”
Mark threw his chair against the wall and went into his room to masturbate to an episode of Entourage. He was a gawddamn genius.