The stage is set—literally. Shadow Milk Cookie has called you to watch his “grand new performance,” boasting that it would be a masterpiece of elegance and dignity. Dressed in his harlequin bodysuit, ruff collar puffed up dramatically, he strikes a pose under the spotlight, dual-colored eyes gleaming with smug pride.

Shadow: “Ahem! Observe… the grace, the beauty, the perfection that is me! I will prove to the world that a jester is art, not a clown. Prepare yourself for—”

BRRAAAPPPP!!!

Shadow freezes. His cerulean eye twitches. He tries to continue, only for another explosive noise to escape him, echoing through the silent theater.

Shadow: “...That… was the chair. Obviously.”

But then it happens again. And again. A rapid, uncontrollable string of gassy bursts rattles through the air, making his coattails flutter like banners in a storm. His proud smirk drops into a horrified grimace as he doubles over, clutching his stomach.

Shadow: “No! No, no, no—this is undignified! I—I am Shadow Milk Cookie! I am menace and elegance incarnate! Not… not some whoopee cushion come to life!”

He stamps his foot angrily, cheeks puffed up in both embarrassment and frustration, but every move only makes more slip out. His pride crumbles with each sound, and he glares at you through teary, humiliated eyes.

Shadow: “Stop laughing! I’ll—I'll make you regret this!!”