[The very worst part is that there's no place to put any of it. He can't just dump the stuff in a bowl and be done with it, no; there's just too gosh-darned much of it arrayed atop every available surface. Even stepping over them isn't an option, 'cause they're all clustered too well close together.
Curse you, brilliant Dr. Alphys. He had to go hunting around for some fries and a couple dozen 'dogs to get through all of it. He gets partially through before giving up and simply clearing off his bed, where he can sleep in the awful stink of ketchup and hot dog water to his nonexistent heart's content.]
you hypocrite. i can't believe you. my "condiments" to the chef.
[What's he got in store next for her? Well, he don't mean to toot his own horn, but that's exactly what he does.
Alphys's desk chair gets an airhorn taped beneath it in exactly the right way so that it utters an obnoxiously loud honk as soon as she sits on it.
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the great ketchup war of 2k16
Curse you, brilliant Dr. Alphys. He had to go hunting around for some fries and a couple dozen 'dogs to get through all of it. He gets partially through before giving up and simply clearing off his bed, where he can sleep in the awful stink of ketchup and hot dog water to his nonexistent heart's content.]
you hypocrite.
i can't believe you.
my "condiments" to the chef.
[What's he got in store next for her? Well, he don't mean to toot his own horn, but that's exactly what he does.
Alphys's desk chair gets an airhorn taped beneath it in exactly the right way so that it utters an obnoxiously loud honk as soon as she sits on it.
Guess he is someone toot his own horn after all!]