La Mela - The Big Ragu

If you had not read the ramp up to this - the last scene behold the following button http://hughsmuse.blogspot.com/2011/01/la-mela.html (cut and paste).

...The boys were in big trouble. Only a few bucks left between them, after spending it on travelin' beers and road smokes, the boys feared that between them they didn't have enough to buy a single meatball, let alone the five course "last supper" before the long walk into the Hudson.
"We... um."
"White or red?"
"Red!"
"White!"
Two bottles of fine table dego red and white wines were fisted onto the table with the smashing grace of a punch by the Rocky Marciano. The two, dumbfounded just looked at each other with panic driven sweat, moving southbound upon their worried brows. The old one, revered by the others as "nonno", stood barrel chested next to their table. His hairy arms were folded like broken pythons. A single pinky finger was encrusted with gold and a single solitary diamond.
"Um... we... were just ahem..."
"Here you go! Buon Mangiare! Idiotas!"
"Um. Gracias!"
"Che di spagnolo, lei al!"
The big Ragu lumbered away from the table his eyes never leaving the boys. A maniacal smile on his lips baring a single gold tooth - a tad gaudy, but this was lil' Italy.
Mouths oozed with delight as the appetizer appeared.
"Some kind of salted meat, which is like really awesome and ridiculo 'r spinach... I don't know what this is, dude but it ain't spaghetti! And I'm cool with 'at."
The wines were poured. The table once more was cleared and replaced with who knows what. And our two intrepid rennaisance men feasted with chomping and tearing, and hardly paying any attention to the falderall that was happening on the opposite side of the room.
The table was cleared. And once more replaced with more food, quicker than either of them could say "Un momento".
Four beautiful women in the corner, one unfortunately at a loss for cash. No card.
I have travelers checks.
"We no take a the traveler check. How you gonna pay?"
Half a fork full of pasta stringing from his mouth the older of the two brothers cautiously whimpered to his brother, "We're gonna die."
He continued to slirp the remains into his mouth. And they listened, while cautiously twirling another fork-full.
"What can you do?" Nonno Asked. "He licked his lips and twisted his mustache."
"I can sing."
Oh really.
Yeah. Classical.
"Sing for us. You pay us like that. Sing."
Suddenly, the music that was softly - almost serenely playing in the background as a sublime dream steeped in garlic and blood red wine stopped playing. In hushed anticipation, the restaurant became the setting for a glorious opera. Those dining had become choir-extras as the victory unwound itself.
Mimi begins a capella. Her voice was young and rich, though the creature herself appeared pale in her fear. She rose.
Nonno closed his eyes. His arms unwound like two enormous pythons - one with a gold and solitary diamond eye at its sharpest tooth.
She closed her eyes as though accepting an invitation to perhaps fall in love with whomever might be willing to share the light with her.
The boys glistened now with sweat. The garlic and heavy olive oil churned the bellies.
The big Ragu stood in the corner eyeing any dissenters to her shedding payment.
Mimi finished.
There was a slight pause. The air in the restaurant was thick and still.
Shallow whispers.
He's gonna kill that woman.
"Sciocchezze!"
"Bravo! "
La Mela exploded. Nonno and Ragu and the other jumped up and down shouting and screaming at the top of their lungs. Ragu came to the table, and with his enormous mits grabbed our wine bottle and pummeled them without mercy or fear of them breaking into a thousand shards of glass. Cheering and ranting.
Nonno grabbed the dangling string of the enormous electric phallus. Flicking what appeared to be equivalent of a large pubic hair, so that the light would not only turn on and off, but throb,
The boys looked at one another. Terror.
The noise died down allowing the Ragu to return to their table. Coming off of his high, he smiled allowing that opulent piece of dental work to shine through his crooked lips.
"Coffee? Cappucino?"
"Cappucino."
"No! Haha."
"You?"
He knew he was dead anyways.
"Just a coffee, thanks."

Bucket - The Dog (You really need to read the first episode)

Shortly, after removing our daughter from the offense on the carpet to clean her, the dog in her natural curiousity approached the room. Before I could "shush" the dog away, she had already devoured the more chunky bits of regurgitant.
There is something in the Bible about this, I am fairly certain.
The next day, while my beloved was infirmed with forementioned illness, I felt compelled to come home for a brief moment to tend to our recovering daughter. As I was preparing her for the day at grandma's house, my wife yelled from the bed, "Hugh, the dog's throwing up!"

Bucket

The intestinal virus that hit the area, hit our daughter first. We thought that she would be immune to it. Alas, she was not.
After bringing her home from grandma’s, we had the opportunity to color, a favorite activities. She immediately was overcome with a need to remove her blue jeans. I did not think very much of it at the time, realizing that she is growing and they were tight. We continued to color her Elmo potty training book. Suddenly, she walked away from it, which again did not alarm me, because like the growth of a two year-old, she also has attention span of one. But the writhing in pain on the ground alarmed me, and I needed to get -
Blah!
Too late. "Little Girl", threw up on the carpet. I tried to grab her and run, but -
Blah!
"Are you okay?"
Yeah.
She is resilient. I went about cleaning up the goo that committed itself to the red carpet, and she went bounding about the house as she often does.
My beloved wife arrived home to find me cleaning the mess.
She was alarmed by this and the fact that it happened two more times before the night was over. I talked to a pediatrician who recommended Gatorade, and that is indeed what she got.
The next day, I went in to work, while my beloved stayed at home to tend to our clingy child. Of course she rebounded with some minor displays of her temporary affliction.
I cooked dinner that evening, and shortly following our dinner, my wife, exposed to our daughter's illness, became quite ill.
Bring on the commode, bring on the bucket.
The house, by this time did not smell very good.
"I will be very surprised if you don't get this."
I am immune.
Insert foot in mouth. Exhale. Repeat.
While at the controls of our business, my eyes became squirrelly and my attitude apathetic, I realized that I may not be staying for any length of time.
I slurred my speech like a drunkard while talking on the phone in the office. I fearfully explained the predicament to my wife that I had to drive home in this condition. I hung up, removed the garbage bag from the bucket and hung my head on the desk over the bucket and -
Blah!
Blah!
Out for a day and half. Sick.