Oh, (censored). (Bleeped)! (Blurred)... What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? Where am I? What is this? Why does it smell like sweat?
Okay. Steady on, Gordon. Let's review. The last thing I remember, it was the wrap party, I was getting more than a little drunk because I'd just realized I'd offered one of those losers a year of working with me -- really, it's (censored) amazing what you'll say when your brain is clogged with the smoke from burnt food -- and there wasn't a drink I didn't want to try, because (blurred) Dewberry had baked the (censored) snacks and there was no (bleeped) way I was going to risk anything solid.
Yes, that sounds about right. Nice and soused, because the only proper way to end an association with FOX is the same way you began it. And then one of the network executives came up to me and said 'Nice one, Ramsey! If this travesty pulls in anything over a 1.5, want to do a second season?'
So naturally, I shoved him into the garbage disposal, which is the proper place to put irredeemable American trash.
But then I had more wine...
God, what's this on my desk? A contract? Season Two? Is that my (censored) blood in the signature?
I'm in Hell. That's the only possible explanation. I am in bloody Hell.
*sigh* Hoist by my own petard. Fine. Let's see what I've got to work with. All of you, signature dishes, now! Oh, I see. You think the thing which best says 'you' is a huge pile of crap. Here, store some of the extra in your hat. This one tastes like brimstone: let's spit it out on the floor and add to the (blurred) ambience.
Oops. Hangovers just ruin my aim. Don't worry, Jean Phillipe, you can still do the job with a hole in your foot.
My God. Two dishes out of twelve that were remotely edible, with one rabbit food from someone who thinks it's appropriate to spend ten hours on makeup and twelve seconds on prep work, and the other coming from the most oversprouted potato I've ever seen. Is that hair or a root system? You over there, you do not add salt by sweating in the food! You, the fishmonger, move a little, will you? Dance! Cook! Breathe! -- oh, you fell over. Well, that's one less to deal with. Can we get through a dinner service with this lot? No, of course we can't, what the (censored) (bleeped) was I thinking? Polly, get out. Look at all this (censored) garbage, and some of it is still handling my food!
Are any of you people worth anything? Well, you, the sweater, you can waste only two-thirds of a rack of meat. I suppose that's something. But it's not enough to save me from having to go out to dinner with this pack of harpies. Yes, you can call me Gordon when we're away from the restaurant. I think I'll call you (censored, bleeped, and blurred). Hey, you! The one who just burned yourself and spent a few minutes in agony still trying to do your job! What's your name? Michelle Skupin? Too long. I'll just call you Heather, after the heather of my favorite moors. You remind me of home. People scream in pain there, quite often. I may keep you for a while.
You, the prison cook. You seem used to pressure. Pick two for me to consider getting rid of. No, that's wrong: you took the sweater! What if someone orders pasta de la panic? We could run out! And I'm not getting rid of the root system yet because I still think we can plant him in the back and cut back on our food costs, which are approaching the gross national budget of Wales after you lot wasted all that (blurred) meat! God, you can't even do this right. I'll pick one. You, the immobile statue. I'll call you 'Gabe', because you make me think of Anne of Green Gables, and I hated that movie. You're gone. Get out so I can set your smirking picture on fire. Maybe the laws of sympathetic magic will kick in and you'll go with it.
Scott? Mary Ann? You have one job for this season's wrap party. Keep me sober. And kill any FOX people who come near me. Two jobs. Keep me sober, kill any FOX people who come near me, and burn down the restaurant. Three jobs. Keep me sober, kill the zombies, burn down the (censored) hellhole, and track down that idiot who wanted more pumpkin. Four jobs...
So who are the rest of you idiots? Sound off like you've got a pair!
...and don't even think about showing me the (censored) proof.
(Roleplaying game where people take the parts of the HK staff, contestants, dinners, props, and incidental characters. The following parts are claimed:
Mary Ann (sous'chef)
Jean Phillipe (matre'd)
Everyone and everything else is up for grabs. See the signup thread at http://community.realitytvworld.com/boards/DCForumID86/89.shtml to take a part and request a sigpic: ones for the remaining contestants are already available, and you can play eliminated characters if you want to. You can also take on the kitches, the suite, hot tub -- anything inanimate which might be vaguely interesting -- and anyone can drop in and be a
victim diner at any time. Just keep the banter to the Be The threads as much as possible: people have been known to get confused and think we're the actual contestants. Seriously.
Three, two, one -- interact!)