“How the hell do you go from grilled cheese to lobster? Where’s the damn cheese, man? We callin’ this sandwich ‘rumor of cheese,’ huh?”

Hank stared at him, his face blank for a few seconds. Jaw slowly dropping.

“A little tip for next time.”

Because Hank’s advice was exquisite, and there probably would be another obnoxious get-together like this, wouldn’t there?

“Throw the lobsters. At the robots. Everyone. Hell, throw ‘em at me.”

Hank didn’t mention that he would probably curse and throw them right back, but still. Was his aim good? Well, they’d just have to see.

“If someone caused enough of a ruckus, maybe we wouldn’t even have to cook anymore. Robots running wild tryna stop the lobster fight. Heh.”

But scheming didn’t help his upset stomach, so Hank added: “Sandwich still tastes like ass, though.”