“My dad, bless his soul, rarely stepped into the kitchen to cook. When he did, he always needed a cookbook to assist him.”
“There were several recipes in that book. They ranged from simple party foods with ginormous portions to meals from high up from the mountains that’d feed a single person.”
“One day he tried to make chicken strips with skin so crispy, it cracked like thunder the moment you bit into it.”
“Spoiler alert: he couldn’t successfully create them.”
“He followed the instructions exactly as written, yet they still came out inedible. In his desperation, he altered the recipe slightly in the vain hope that they’d come out of the oven tastier than anything mom ever made.”
“He tried choosing different brands of chicken, but it didn’t change a damn thing. He also attempted cooking it for longer or shorter periods of time, but all that ended up doing was making the already inedible mess burned or undercooked.”
“Out of frustration, my dad tossed the book in the trash and allowed my mom to make her own version of the strips for the family.”
“My dad’s plight reminds me of a certain Author of Death and how he couldn’t kill a certain bad motherfucker.”
“You have this notebook that’s supposed to detail the exact moment when someone’s has to die. With it, most people end up fearing you for having the ability to end their life with the stroke of a pen.”
“However, when the time came to kill off Hollywood, the fucker just wouldn’t die. No matter what you ended up writing down in that book, he’d somehow emerge from the scene unscathed.”
“Ever since last Red Snow, your reputation has taken a nosedive. If you couldn’t kill someone as insignificant as that cunt, then why should they fear anything that you write in that notepad of yours?”
“You know what Jet Set Radio and our friend Simon ended up doing? We took matters into our own hands and poisoned that bitch.”
“He was sick beyond belief. The poison was fast acting and nearly killed his ass at Revolt. The only reason that asshole’s still alive is because the Taskmaster wanted him to stay that way for just a bit longer.”
“You, on the other hand, have no excuse for failing to merk that bastard.”
“You could’ve killed him at any point that sandy fuck wasn’t pulling some Inception shit to warn him about his death. Instead, you just whined and bitched that he dared to go against your beloved book.”
“On Monday, you’ll witness firsthand how we at Jet Set Radio take care of motherfuckers.”
“We don’t follow some recipe for destruction written by some inept author. We do things our own way and get results that favor us.”
“I’m a hungry girl, Deathnote. Hungry girls don’t complain about a lack of results. Hungry girls don’t alter their strategies because they didn’t work the first time.”
“Hungry girls devour! At Fuck the World, this hungry girl’s gonna eat you!”