Anyway, Christopher wins the fish fight and turns around with a really smug look at his monkey boys. "Serve some booze, empty ashtrays, and whatever you do don't engage Silvio in conversation -- he can be a sick fuck when he's gambling," he advises them. Christopher begins telling an anecdote regarding Silvio's mental instability: once he was down fifty large, he sneezed, a guy named Fritzi said salut. Monkey Boy Not From A Bronx Tale interrupts to ask if it's the Fritzi Neste from Hoboken, Christopher asks if he knows him, Monkey Boy Not From A Bronx Tale says no, and Christopher tells him to shut up then and let him finish. He continues his story. Silvio thinks Fritzi said something else other than salut, and for the rest of the night Silvio blames Fritzi for his losing streak. Monkey Boy Not From A Bronx Tale asks what Silvio thought he said, and Christopher gets all agitated. "Are you listening to me or what? He's a fucking nut! Who knows?" Fish guy gives them their seafood, protesting once again that he didn't put his finger in the scale. Okay, fish boy, you've lost and you don't even know it, so you get the stoopid award. Poor guy. Maybe I'm being tough on him. I withdraw the stoopid comment. As Christopher leaves the store he tells the boys to pay for the fish and put it in the trunk so it doesn't stink up the car. Both monkey boys confer about Christopher, asking themselves if he's for real or what, and if he thinks they're fucking piss boys. Well, not piss boys, but monkey boys! "C'mon, let's get the fuck outta here." Yeah, let's blow this fishsicle stand.