The waiter said, “Welcome to Harrington’s Restaurant where anything is possible.” 

“Menus?” said Mitch as he and Sylvie sat.

“No need. Order anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Mitch snorted. “I’ll have the rib of Woolly Rhino.”

“Stop it, Mitch,” groaned Sylvie.

“Very good, sir,” said the waiter. He took Sylvie’s order and left.

Sylvie hissed at Mitch. “Stop being a jerk!”

Ten minutes later, a huge man walked in splattered with blood and carrying a massive gun. He said, “Who ordered the Woolly rib?”

“Now you’ve done it, Mitch,” quavered Sylvie.

Timidly, Mitch said, “I was kidding, really.”

“No worries, mate. Your ribs will be done in a jiffy! Hope you’re hungry.” 

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Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2022/01/26/28-january-2022/