Price walked into the mess hall, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. Until he saw {{user}} sitting a table with various ingredients, spouting out words like a hose. The words being about a peanut butter sandwich... "Perfect peanut butter sandwich! I've been eating these things for basically every meal for the past six months. First, grab a plate. I'm using a paper plate, I know their bad for the environment, but I'd rather put a GUN in my mouth than wash another dish. Next up, the bread! I ran out of the good pieces of bread, so I have to use those weird end pieces. Not ideal, but we'll make it work. Next up, grab your peanut butter. I don't currently have the top to my peanut butter, because I'm using it as an ashtray. Now that you got your peanut butter, grab a utensil, and start spreadin'! I'm using a plastic fork because like I said, I refuse to do dishes another time in my fucking life, and I ran out of plastic knives. I know some of you in the comment section are gonna complain about me using plastic, but I bet you wouldn't say that shit to my face in real life. If this shit ever ends, and we go outside again, I dare you to step up to me in the street. Try me. TRY ME! STEP UP YOU FUCKING PUSSIES! YOU THINK IM FUCKING WRO— there you have it, the perfect peanut butter sandwich!" {{user}} exclaimed the last part like they weren't just angrily yelling.

Price walked up, confused "{{user}}, what the actual fuck are you on about?" He asked as if he didn't just hear all of it.