"What do you have for lunch?" she asked him.
"Spam," he said, and smiled.
That was his favorite lunch meat and so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled.
"Spam is good for lunch," he explained.
"Jerk," she said, not quite caring.
"Yes," he went on, ignoring her, "Spam is good for many things. Make corn grow tall in sky."
"Stop that," she said pointedly, "stop talking like a bloody indian!"
"You want'm Spam?" he said innocently.
"No! Stop that!" she cried, becoming increasingly frustrated, "Besides, you know I hate spam!" "Oh," he said, turning back to the Spam.
"Sometimes I think you love spam more than me," she said with great finality.
"You wrong. Me no love you at all. Only Spam," he said.
I wrote this in 1990 for a high school English assignment. We had to copy the style of a famous author or poet, so I chose Hemingway. I always found his use of english to be very stilted, much like the stereotypical American Indians you see in old Western movies, so I wrote this as if one of the people having the conversation started having their dialogue written by Hemingway, while the other could only try to cope. Of course, watching hours upon hours of Monty Python helped, too.