A car pulls up.
“My first sucker, er, um, Customer,” the WeenerMan grins.
The car door open and out steps the church-piano lady, “Oh look Fermin,” She calls back into her husband, “A Charity Bake Sale,”
“My,” shw says to the WeenerMan as she looks over the offerings, “Did you bake these yourself?”
“You’d better hope not,” I say under my breath.
“I serve as an agent for those who do,” HM explains.
“And your Bakers wrapped them all up too, My,” the Church-piano Lady admires, “Here Fermin, I bought you a chocolate-coated one.”
She tries one herself, “They are sooo tastey, just like Little Deb-”
I sort of herd her back to the car-door, “Just so the Weener didn’t bake them,” I assure her.
“They taste soo good, and promise that all the proceeds go to Charity!” She waves as the casr pulls away.
The Weenerman waves. Once the car is out of sight he frowns some.
“What now?” I ask.
“I promised the church-piano player I’d give the all proceeds to charity, and when you promise a church-piano player, you gotta do it,” he shrugs and unwraps a roll, “There goes the Administrative femight as will help my self to some of the non-profits.”
I unwrap an peanut butter cracker, “Good idea.”
Weener doesn’t miss a beat, “That’ll be a Quarter.”