Chicken Pie

I was at a pet store, oh, like two years ago, and there was a middle-aged woman with the prerequisite tiny dog squashed into her hand bag or something equally stupid to me (I like malamutes, and there's no way in hell I'm lugging one around in a handbag) standing in line. The cashier was taking a long time, much like the crispy duck at Hunan's, so to make conversation, a guy next to the lady turned to her and inquired, "oh, what's your dog's name?"
"Sweetie Pie," came the reply.
"Chicken Pie?" the guy responded incredulously, screwing up his face in confusion. I about died, and earnestly began to think of how I could incorporate that exchange into the real world, so as to spread the amusement around.
I got my chance only a short time later. One night at the Green Room on Thurman, I had about three too many Jamesons on the rocks (for those of you who don't know, Jameson is a CATHOLIC whiskey, and Bushmills is a PROTESTANT one. Now, I consider myself pretty non-partisan generally, but I was raised Catholic, so goddamn it, if I am going to drink whiskey it's going to be the Catholic stuff. Though, if I had to take a taste test I probably wouldn't know the difference). I (with the help of G, who was similarly three sheets to the wind) began asking random strangers if they had a dog. Upon the affirmative reply, the stranger would be asked what said dog's name was. Regardless of the true answer, we responded with just the same inflection as the guy in the store, "Chicken Pie? What kind of name is that?" To which, the more lucid ones would say, "Sure, whatever." But the drunken ones would launch into a conversation straight out of an Abbot and Costello act. "No, it's Panzer." After more "yeah, Chicken Pie, that's really weird, I must say", they would begin to argue. "I said Panzer, not Chicken Pie!" We would nod knowingly and maybe get one more comment in before they simply turned away in disgust.
Hours of entertainment, let me tell you. It's those simple pleasures.