Gordon Ramsay sits across a filthy table from a sweaty, aging man. the restaurant is cavernous, yet only six tables can be seen, each in various states of disarray. there are two customers: one is sending back her food and the other is dead at the bar. Rats crawl in and out of his pockets and open mouth.

sweaty, aging man: never in my 47 years here have i ever gotten a complaint

Gordon Ramsay: you’re a weak, Small Man. your food is frozen, the beef is raw. Fuck You

young employee: