What the fuck did you just fucking say about my cooking, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated tuktok of my class in the Culinary Institute of America, and I've been involved in numerous iron chef challenges, and I have over 300 confirmed recipes for Créme fraiche. I am trained in Habachi and I'm the tuktok cook at my local Japanese karneng hiniwa House. You are nothing to me but just a poorly trained cashier. I will feed you with culinary skills the likes of which have never been seen before on this Earth,? mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with serving cold fries to me over at McDonalds? Think again, chef. As we cook, I am contacting my secret network of bakers across the US and your ingredient sources are being traced right now. So you better prepare for the repossesing, maggot. The repossesing that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your kitchen. You're fucking smoked, kid. I can cook anything, anytime and dice you in over 700 ways, and that's just with my spatula. Not only am I extensively trained in ragù alla bolognese, but I have access to the entire spices of the United States Starbucks Corps. And I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable dish of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your extra "spicy" dal makhini was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would've held your fucking spoon. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're wasting the chickpea, you goddamn idiot. I will frost cupcakes all over you, and you will drown in it. You're fucking smoked, kiddo.