or like this (from American Psycho)
"I'm sorry, sir," the waitress says. "No cheese. Kosher," and I have no idea what the fuck she's talking about and I say, "Fine. A kosher burger but with cheese, Monterey Jack perhaps, and - oh god," I moan, sensing more cramps coming on. "No cheese, sir," she says. "Kosher... " "Oh god, is this a nightmare, you fucking Jew?" I mutter, and then, "Cottage cheese? Just bring it?" "I'll get the manager," she says. "Whatever. But bring me a beverage in the meanwhile," I hiss. "Yes?" she asks. "A... vanilla... milk shake..." "No milk shakes. Kosher," she says, then, "I'll get the manager." "No, wait." "Mister I'll get the manager." "What in the fuck is going on?" I ask, seething, my platinum AmEx already slapped on the greasy table. "No milk shake. Kosher," she says, thick-lipped, just one of billions of people who have passed over this planet. "Then bring me a fucking... vanilla... malted!" I roar, spraying spit all over my open menu. She just stares. "Extra thick!" I add. She walks away to get the manager and when I see him approaching, a bald carbon copy of the waitress, I get up and scream, "Fuck yourself you retarded cocksucking kike," and I run out of the delicatessen