Significance
"I'm telling you, the key to impressing girls is to know how to cook," Spencer said as he stirred a large pot on his stove.
"You know, that's probably the smartest thing you've said your whole life," Sam said, looking up from her phone. "Any guy that wants a date with Mama better know how to cook one heck of a ham."
"Do you have a date coming over here or something?" Freddie asked, rolling his eyes at Sam's comment.
"As a matter of fact, I do," Spencer grinned. "You know that girl Angela I was telling you about?"
"The girl from the dry cleaners?" Sam said.
"Yup!" Spencer nodded. "Well I finally convinced her to give me a shot! So she's coming over here at seven. I'm making us a lovely dinner of meatballs and then we're going to watch a romantic film and sip Guava juice. So you two need to be out of here by then; I can't have a bunch of fifteen-year olds hanging around when I have a lady here!"
"Well what are we supposed to do?" Sam moaned. "Carly's in Yakima; there's nothing else to do around here!"
"Well gee, maybe you two could try hanging around your own places for a change," Spencer said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"Want to just hang out at the Groovy Smoothie?" Freddie asked Sam.
"With you?" Sam cringed. "Gross. But…seeing as I have no other options, I guess you can buy me a Strawberry Splat."
"How come I have to buy you a Strawberry Splat?" Freddie demanded.
"Because I want one!" Sam snapped.
"So? It's not my responsibility to-"
Just then Spencer's Pearphone began ringing.
"Shhhh! It's Angela!" Spencer exclaimed. He pressed his phone to his ear. "Hey, Ang! What's-Huh? Oh…you-you can't make it tonight? Well that-that's okay! We can just get together some other night and-oh…you-you're getting back together with your ex-boyfriend? Ah. No, no, that's okay. Why wouldn't you want to get back together with the head cashier at Inside-Out Burger instead of a fun, quirky sculptor? No hard feelings! Take care now, bye."
"Whoa, you took that surprisingly well," Sam commented as Spencer hung up. "I was expecting you to-"
"Oh come on!" Spencer cried, tossing his phone down. "That's the third time I've been stood-up this month!"
"Well, I don't think you'd technically classify that as being stood-up," Freddie said. "See, when you get stood-up, your date just doesn't show up. At least Angela called you."
"Oh that makes it so much better!" Spencer snapped.
"Eh, don't take it personally," Sam told him. "So you'll probably grow old and die alone, big deal!"
"That-That's a huge deal!" Spencer sputtered. "Alright, that's it, I'm going to Socko's! He's way better at healing a broken heart."
"Wait, what about your meatballs?" Sam called after him as he headed towards the door. "Can we have them?"
"Sure, by all means, benefit off of my misery," Spencer snapped.
"Cool, thanks," Sam grinned, getting to her feet and heading to the stove.
"I was being sarcastic!" Spencer exclaimed. "Ugh, never mind!"
"Huh, maybe we should've been more sensitive towards him," Freddie said as Spencer stormed out of the apartment.
"Eh, he'll be fine," Sam shrugged. "Him and Socko will watch a bunch of chick flicks and gorge on ice cream and by tomorrow he'll be back to normal. Well…Spencer-level normal. Now shut up; I've got meatballs to enjoy."
"Can I have some?" Freddie asked, joining Sam at the table as she set the pot down.
"Pfft, no," Sam said, grabbing a fork and selecting the largest meatball.
"You have to share, Sam!" Freddie protested.
"Yeah, sure, just like I have to do that history project Howard assigned us," Sam smirked.
"You do have to do that history project," Freddie said as Sam took a bite of the meatball. "It's thirty percent of your grade. But don't change the subject! I'm entitled to at least some of those meatballs and-"
"Uck!" Sam cried, spitting the partially-chewed meatball out onto the table.
"Well…that's lovely," Freddie said, cringing.
"These meatballs taste like butt!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing a water bottle and washing her mouth out. "Good thing that chick canceled tonight; she just saved herself a trip to the hospital!"
"Oh come on, I'm sure they're not that bad," Freddie said.
"Dude, you know I eat just about anything made from meat," Sam pointed out. "If I'm saying these are bad, they're bad. But try them for yourself if you don't believe me."
"Fine," Freddie said, taking the fork from Sam and picking up another meatball. He took a small bite, chewed it for about two seconds, and then began to gag.
"Oh my God!" Freddie moaned, hurrying to the trashcan and spitting the meatball out. "What did he do to these?"
"Who knows? Spencer's usually a decent cook," Sam said. She looked over at the counter, where the spices Spencer had been using were still out. "Let's see…he put in oregano, black pepper, basil, garlic powder, cinnamon-"
"Cinnamon?" Freddie repeated. "Well that's it! You don't put cinnamon in meatballs."
"Great!" Sam exclaimed. "The doof totally destroyed a whole batch of meatballs." She stepped back over to the pot and glanced sadly inside. "Look at them all in there…totally inedible…it breaks my heart."
"Are you crying?" Freddie grinned.
"Shut it!" Sam snapped, aiming a punch at this shoulder.
"Ow!"
"What do we do with them now?" Sam asked, turning back to the meatballs.
"Throw them away, what else?" Freddie shrugged.
"You can't throw away meat!" Sam gasped.
"Um…you just said those things were inedible, even by your standards," Freddie frowned.
"They're still meatballs," Sam said.
"Oh my God…" Freddie sighed, shaking his head. "Is your connection with meat seriously that strong?"
"My fist's connection with your face is about to be pretty strong too," Sam said, glaring at him.
"Fine, don't throw away the defective meatballs," Freddie conceded. "But in the meantime, I'm ordering myself a pizza. You want one?"
"Duh," Sam nodded.
"Are you going to pay me back for it?" Freddie asked.
"Uh…you can choose to believe that," Sam said.
"Right," Freddie said, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his phone.
"There's got to be some use for these meatballs," Sam said, still looking in the pot, concentration etched onto her face. "Maybe I can extract the cinnamon somehow…no, that would require science probably…I can add a ton of sauce and maybe that will mask the cinnamon taste? No, what am I thinking? The ratio of cinnamon is way to high to be covered by even three jars of sauce."
"Wow…I don't think I've ever seen you put so much thought into anything," Freddie chuckled.
"Well this is important!" Sam snapped.
"Yes…so important," Freddie said. "Anyway, the pizza is on its way. While you obsess over those meatballs, I'm going to watch a movie. Let's see what DVDs they've got here."
He stepped over to the shelf by the stairs and began looking around. "Hey, where are the DVDs? Don't they keep them over here?"
"I think Carly moved them," Sam said.
"Why would she do that?" Freddie asked.
"How the heck should I know?" Sam shrugged. "Now can you let me focus here?"
"They've got some fun board games, it looks like," Freddie continued, looking up on a higher shelf. "Of course the only other person here is too obsessed with finding a purpose for a bunch of meatballs, so I guess those are out. Let's see-whoa!"
While looked around the shelves, Freddie had accidently knocked over a nearby umbrella bin, sending the contents spilling into the living room.
"Smooth, nub," Sam said, beginning to slowly applaud.
"You could help me clean this stuff up," Freddie said, standing up the bin and beginning to place everything back.
"Why should I help clean up a mess I didn't make?" Sam scoffed. "I don't even clean up messes I do make. Wait…what are those golf clubs doing there?"
"Huh? Oh, I guess these are from when Spencer opened up that mini golf course here," Freddie said, picking up the two putters that had spilled out. "Man, that was fun…I love mini golf, but I never get to play."
"Yeah, same here," Sam nodded. "Last time I played, I went with my cousin Skipper and we got thrown out after three holes."
"How come?" Spencer asked.
"He put a bunch of electric eels in the little lake they had on the course," Sam explained.
"Ah," Freddie nodded, looking back down at the clubs in his hand. "I wonder if Spencer would ever consider turning his living room into a golf course again. He has a decent amount of space here."
"Carly would probably throw a fit," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, you're right," Freddie said. "Too bad. You know, though, I was watching T.V. last night-"
"Your mom unlocked the channels?"
"Some of them," Freddie said. "I still can't watch the nature channel…but anyway, I was watching this old sitcom, and these guys were practicing for a golf tournament by just putting balls into old cups and between each others legs and stuff. If we had a couple of golf balls, we could actually play a round of mini golf right here, even without all of Spencer's fancy sculptures."
"Well maybe they have some old golf balls in their storage unit," Sam said.
"Yeah, maybe," Freddie said. "But it would take hours to find anything in that mess-"
"Holy chiz!" Sam suddenly exclaimed. "That-That's it!"
"What's it?" Freddie frowned, confused.
"Quick, move the coffee table out of the way!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing the pot of meatballs and a plastic cup and hurrying into the living room.
"Why do I have to-"
"Move it!" Sam yelled.
"Alright, alright!" Freddie said, quickly dragging the coffee table out of the way, leaving a wide, empty space in front of the couch. "Now what?"
"Now," Sam grinned, setting the cup down on its side on the carpet. "We play mini golf."
"How?" Freddie asked. "We just established that we don't have golf balls."
"No," Sam said, gently placing a single meatball on the ground a few feet away from the cup. "But we have these babies."
"Sam…you cannot be serious," Freddie frowned, looking down at the meat.
"Come on, this idea is genius!" Sam exclaimed.
"Using meatballs as golf balls isn't exactly what I would call 'genius'," Freddie scoffed.
"You're right," Sam nodded. "It's super genius!"
"That's not-"
"Dude, stop being such a downer and give it a chance!" Sam said. "Think about it; it's all the fun of mini golf, with the extra amusement of using meatballs."
"I dunno, it seems…dumb," Freddie said. "And messy."
"You're just scared I'd cream you," Sam smirked.
"Uh, you would not cream me," Freddie said firmly. "Golf is a game of strategy. It involves carefully calculating executing each shot."
"Then prove it," Sam said simply, grabbing one of the putters from him. "I bet you can't sink a meatball into this cup in under three shots."
"What? I totally could!" Freddie exclaimed. "That's like, the world's easiest shot."
"I'm hearing an awful lot of yapping and not a lot of putting," Sam said boredly.
"I-Fine!" Freddie conceded, moving so he was standing behind the meatball. "Just to show you that this is a dumb idea…"
He carefully analyzed his shot and then gently putted the meatball, sending it rolling about six inches to the left of the cup.
"Ha!" Sam laughed triumphantly as Freddie stared at the meatball, flabbergasted.
"But-But that was the perfect putt!" Freddie said. "It should've gone right in!"
"Watch and learn from a pro, Benson," Sam said, setting a second meatball down where the first had been. She took a few seconds to study her shot before hitting the meatball with hew own putter, sending the meatball rolling directly into the cup.
"Hole in one!" Sam cheered as Freddie's mouth dropped open. "Mama's the champ!"
"I-You cheated!" Freddie said, crossing his arms across his chest.
"You saw me take the shot," Sam said. "How could I have cheated?"
"You-You just did!"
"Aw, somebody's just being a sore loser," Sam smiled, playfully ruffling Freddie's hair.
"That's it!" Freddie said, swatting her hand away. "Get me another meatball, Puckett!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam said. "I thought you said this was a dumb game, right?"
"It is a dumb game!" Freddie snapped. "But I'm not going to let you think that you're a better golfer than me, whether we're using golf balls or meatballs or-or gumballs!"
"Gumballs?" Sam repeated. "Now that's just ridiculous. "
"Oh, I can feel the headache building up now," Freddie sighed, looking at his shot before gently putting the meatball with his putter. This time, it rolled right into the cup.
"Ha! Boom!" Freddie roared triumphantly, turning to Sam, who looked like someone had just hit her across the face. "In your face, you blonde-headed demon!"
"You cheated!" Sam exclaimed.
"You just saw me take the shot," Freddie smirked. "How could I have cheated?"
"Oh don't you use my own words against me!" Sam said.
"Huh, this is fun," Freddie grinned.
"Yeah, well, I'm still winning," Sam said, grabbing herself another meatball and setting it on the ground. "You have two strokes, and I only have one. And newsflash, Benson, in golf you want the lower score."
"You just had a lucky start," Freddie said. "Now that I'm used to the unique mass and density of the meatballs, I'll have no trouble calculating a perfect shot each time."
"We'll see," Sam said, rolling her eyes. "Just remember, this game involves meat, and nobody can beat me when it comes to meat."
"There's a first time for everything," Freddie told her, raising an eyebrow. "Now hurry up and putt that meatball. We've got a whole course to get through."
….
"Look, all I'm saying is next time pick me up at the train station on time," Carly said at the end of the weekend as her and Spencer came back to their apartment. "I was waiting there for three hours!"
"Well I fell asleep at the mall!" Spencer defended. "You know how comfy those new massage chairs are? And now they even massage your butt! It's a lovely experience!"
"I don't want to hear about your butt massage," Carly cringed as Spencer opened the door. "Especially not after a whole weekend of rubbing ointments all over granddad. All I want to do is get into a nice, warm bubble bath and-"
"Yes! Hole-in-one!" Freddie cheered as the Shay siblings stepped into their apartment.
"Dude, nice shot!" Sam said, high-fiving him. "You got it to bounce off the couch corner and everything! How'd you do that?"
"Basic geometry," Freddie shrugged.
"Ick, so I'd have to learn geometry to make those shots?" Sam frowned. "No thanks. I'll stick to my own methods, which have been working out pretty well for me, since I'm down by six strokes this round."
"You just wait until we get to the holes out on the fire escape," Freddie grinned. "Then I'll-"
"Um, hi!" Carly said loudly, causing Sam and Freddie to spin around, surprised.
"Oh, hey guys," Freddie said.
"What are you two doing in here?" Spencer frowned.
"Meat golf," Sam and Freddie answered simultaneously.
"Meat Golf?" Carly repeated, confused. "What is-Hey! What's up with all the sauce stains all over the rug?"
"Yeah, this is a brand new rug!" Spencer exclaimed.
"I thought you found it behind a gas station," Sam pointed out.
"That doesn't mean it's okay for you to destroy it!" Carly said. "How did this even happen, anyway?"
"We told you, Meat golf," Freddie said.
"Yeah, still don't know what that is!"
"Oh, it's the best thing ever," Sam grinned.
"Totally," Freddie nodded. "See, it's just like mini golf, but instead of golf balls-"
"You use meatballs," Sam finished.
"How come?" Spencer asked.
"Yeah, that seems dumb," Carly said.
"What? It's not dumb!" Freddie scoffed. "It's so much fun! Sam and I are almost done with this round, so if you want you two can join and-"
"Um, thanks, but I'll pass," Spencer said. "I'm not about to spend my day putting meat around; I have responsibilities to attend to."
"You're going to go eat cookie dough in your bed and fall asleep, aren't you?" Carly said knowingly.
"No, we're out of cookie dough," Spencer retorted. "So I'll be enjoying fudge instead. Night, everyone!"
"His loss," Sam said, rolling her eyes. "You in Carls?"
"Um…no offense or anything, but I don't really see the appeal of hitting meatballs into cups," Carly frowned. "So I'm just gonna go upstairs and rest. Oh, and please try to clean up the sauce stains you got everywhere, okay?"
"Um, okay," Freddie nodded. "Sorry about that."
"Unbelievable!" Sam said, shaking her head as Carly retreated upstairs. "Those two don't know what they're missing!"
"I know," Freddie said. "Guess meat golf will just be for the two of us."
"Looks like it," Sam said. "It's one of the few things you're decent at…surprisingly."
"Wow…a compliment from Sam Puckett," Freddie chuckled. "I don't hear that everyday."
"Yeah, and don't count on ever getting another one from me again," Sam said, lightly thumping the back of his head. "Now stand back; it's my turn and-"
"Oh come on!" the suddenly heard Carly yell from upstairs.
"Um, I think Carly found the mess leftover from that course we set up in her room," Freddie said slowly.
"Yup…" Sam nodded. "She sounds real wazzed off."
"We should probably go up there and apologize and clean everything up," Freddie sighed.
"Or…" Sam said, smiling. "We get out of here and finish this game at my place before she gets down here to yell at us."
"I like that idea better," Freddie said, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. "Let's get out of here. Now!"
