I cook the vittles.
It’s slop, but you can’t do much with wormy potatoes, cheap vermin meat, and mouldy vegetables.
I wouldn’t give it to a dog. But I gotta eat it too.
That big sap Caleb was complain’ about it the other day. He reckoned his brother Paul could do better. I know he’s dimwitted, but I snapped; after all, I do my best.
Paul stepped in and tried to calm me down, and wham Henricks punched him in the kidneys.
It sure was a quiet dinner after they dragged his sorry ass to the hole.
Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.