The two scientists stand in front of a bowl of 120 day old pasta. Mario tried the last batch, so it was Luigi's turn today.

Luigi recalled with horror the profane vomiting sounds coming from Mario's bathroom the night after the last test. The disturbing red tinge to the toilet bowl the next morning would have frightened normal folks, but Luigi knew it wasn't blood Mario had thrown up, just Mama's tomato sauce (she'd beaten Mario with a wooden spoon for wasting food after he left the bathroom and Luigi could hear his stout brother crying himself to sleep).

Now though. Now it was Luigi's turn. He picked the long noodle up and it was wet and floppy. No discoloration, but they'd been duped before and had learned long ago appearances meant nothing.

"Brother, we need this to work," Mario said with an bit of nervousness in his voice, his hand on Luigi's shoulder. "They are cutting the funding at the end of the week."

Luigi scoffed, still staring at the noodle and muttered, "Fuck it." He tossed it in his mouth and chewed.

What seemed like hours passed, but it was only a few seconds. His shorter brother staring at him with wide eyes and a sweaty brow. "How is it brother? Please! Tell me!"

Luigi looked down for a long time, brow furrowed in concentraion. Chewing a little, Mario noticed a single tear drop off his cheek as he looked back up. "Al motherfucking dente."

Mario's eyes went wide as he exclaimed, "Mama mia! Do you know what this means Luigi!"

"It means our former colleague didn't die in vain, brother! We shall stop by church on the way home tonight and light a candle for Toad."