I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had any food. I’m so hungry. It gnaws and gnaws and gnaws away at my poor little stomach, but even the birds and the bees can’t satiate this paltry bullock.

The more I eat, the more I pray. The more I pray, the more I say:

I—

Ah, screw it pardner. I don’t even have the energy to come up with a catchy tune. Even poor little Rocinante here is feeling the quibbles aren’t you boy?

Whine (●´⌓`●)

I’m sorry boy… I’m a fool (a fool) a sinner and a lout—hey I still got it in me!— But empty tummies here are a common stout.

It’s so gosh darn hard to get food nowadays. I can’t eat the grass because it’s red; I can’t eat the flowers because it’s red; I can’t even chow down on the yuckity yuck yuck dirt because it’s all red!

I tried, once. To eat the red. A red bird fell from the sky once all gross-like and oozing with spit and gunk. I spit-roasted that sucker like it was the Fourth of July, but it turns out the red don’t make for good seasoning, pardner.

I cried. Then I gagged. Then I vomited.

It’s not a good feeling. You can feel this icky, disgusting sensation rising from your throat that keeps getting worse and worse, slowly climbing its way up despite how much you try to force it in, and your eyes start to water as the junk covers every single inch (and centimeter! Don’t want to insult those Europeans y’know) and floods your passage with disgust and self-loathing and bile.

Then it comes out. And all you’re left with is a bitter aftertaste and sullied teeth.

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The vomit wasn’t even green… it was red.

The only thing that wasn’t red was the stuff in our fridge, but apparently there’s only so long chicken can last before it turns slimy and brown. Papaw used to make it work, but then… yeah.

And Momma… she was one of the first to turn black. We don’t mess with black, mon ami. Eh, I didn’t even like her that much anyway so no harm was done to the world!

I’m gonna die soon if I don’t get food. I don’t wanna die, sooooo let’s go to a restaurant! I heard those industrial grade freezers can keep them foods nice and non-yucky ya hear? Just gotta find one that isn’t all barred and stuff.

People can be so rude sometimes! They put these wooden boards over the doors just to prevent little ladies like me from having a good night’s meal! Greedy fellas they are… someone should have taught them how to share like civilized people.

I never could enter any of these foody havens, but now? Hehe, I’ve got a secret weapon with me.

Say your prayers, Mickey D’s; it’s clobberin’ time.

Rocinante, attenTION!

ARF! ٩(◕‿◕)۶

LET ‘ER RIP!

(๑`^´๑)︻デ═一 🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The door gets BLASTED to KINGDOM COME heck yeah YOU CRUDDIN’ greedy LOT! That’ll teach ya to share! Now, hand over yer food if you know what’s good for ya—

Oh. They’re already dead.

Shame shame shame. How could you guys all up and die like that after hoardin’ the goodies!? You guys didn’t even turn red! You’re just… dead. Just hollow eyes and white bleachy bones.

Ah, well. More for us, Rocinante! C’mon, I’ll find ya some nice frozen patties to snack on. There’s gotta be something in this here eatery.

Now let’s take a looksie… moldy bread uh-huh… some brown lettuce… what? Eeeeeeew, the milk’s all chunky and blegh.

Crud… there’s nothing here. Guess I should’ve expected that since the freezer’s turned off. What’re we gonna do now pupper…?

Sniff (o・┏ω┓・o)

Hmmmm? I-Is that? It is! Oh lord have mercy it’s… it’s… the luxury only told off in legends. It’s so beautiful. It’s so shiny. Thank you, thank you really cruddin’ scary God in the sky… thank you for your blessed boon upon this unworthy soul.

Bottom’s up, boy! Tonight, we’re having Chef Boyardee!

Boy? Pupper? What’re you—

EEEEEEEW NOOOO! BAD BOY! VERY BAD BOY!

DO. NOT. EAT. THE. CORPSES!!!!

You’ll get a stomachache! Parasites are a very real thing, y’know?

Haaah… well, I guess as long as he’s happy. More for me then~