“Don’t worry,” Hank says as he’s shuffling his way down the line of tables. Hands tucked into his coat pockets oh-so conspiratorially. “It’s gonna be... that fucker who gets the robots’ shit.”

He points at the next sorry loser who comes round to poke at the toast tower monstrosity. Dropping his hand after a split second because he’s not that stupid.

And sure enough the toast abomination topples like a house of cards. One of the little robots who handed out the cards comes speeding over, beeping obnoxiously all the while. Hopefully not scanning for fingerprints or something weird like that.

“What would the punishment be, anyway?” Hank asks nonchalantly, rolling back on his heels. “Y’know. Sabotage. Heh.”