Good golly Angry Chef, you look terrible. What happened, honey?
Jägermeister and no concept of tomorrow.
We gotta start cooking. Where’s the guy, the thing that works here… what’s his name… Otis?
You mean Toast?
Who? No no, the mouthy little dumpfuck. Stan? Or is it Elmer?
Good morning, Toast!
Hey shitswitch, go start dicing up tomatoes, I’m gonna eat breakfast.
Toast, you should keep an eye on Angry Chef. He looks dreadful!
It’s only a hangover. He’ll be fine after he eats something.
Wow! You look incredible! No wonder they say a greasy breakfast can cure a hangover.
Why the hell you think I decided to open a diner?
And I couldn’t stop cutting the cheese. I was lying on the floor naked and sweating, with my asshole squealing non-stop.
Somehow I realized there was only one way to neutralize my bowels: eat something I always eat. So I downed some tuna casserole, a PBJ and a beer.
The reaction was instant, like unplugging someone on life support. Finally, my ass stopped. I even wrote a few rhymes during the experience, to remind myself diets are awful.
This gas is never-ending
Forget what time it started
It won’t stop if I’m crapping
All my shits are sharted