I love torturing Nick.

(Nick comes in through the back door with two bags of food from McDonald's. He gets my mother one of those salads in the oddly shaped cups and me a Big Mac. I put it in the fridge and make myself a tuna sandwich, sitting down next to them at the dining room table.)
Nick : Why aren't you eating the food I bought you?
Me : I don't like McDonald's. It's far too greasy.
Nick : Whatever.
(Nick pulls his burger out of a bag, then opens up the wrapping, revealing an oversized cheeseburger. I mean, he was having trouble holding it. And he's not too petit himself.)
Mother : What the hell did you order, Nick?
(Nick smirks at my mother.)
Nick : It's called a double quarter pounder. Oh yeah.
Me : That's retarded. Wouldn't it just be called a half pounder?
(My mother nods in agreement.)
Nick : No, it can't be. Why would it be a half pounder when there are two quarters of a pound?
(My mother and I attempt to stifle our laughter with our hands, but fail horribly.)
Me : Two quarters of a pound is half of a pound, Nick.
Mother : I didn't know they still had the metric system in Barbados.
(Nick pushes the burger in the opposite direction of himself and stands up, muttering curse words.)
Nick : Can't eat a fucking meal in peace...