Bread. So much bread. Even fruit cake bread.

He definitely needed to get out more. And not at night. He came out of his workshop, rubbing his stubble.

Nudges gay legs with the end of his shotgun lightly.

"What?"

What do you call it when you kill a friend? homie-cide.

"I'm too busy to deal with this." Locks himself back in his garage.

"What."

"The heck." Lifts his helmet up a bit to examine the area better. "...Who got in my shop?"

"The heck is 25 doin' with a spoon."

"...Someone stop the poor fella before he hurts himself."

Throws a wrench instead.

Grumbled. Pushed the table aside, and dragged the bot out with irritation. "The hell were you thinkin'?"

YES We'RE FUCKING ALIVe

if this gets 50 retweets tate has to do a cooking show ON CAMERA for me and rebecca on Skype PLEASE

boop