Satan's personal chef

undead undead undead

Despite my utter dislike and natural aversion to most human beings I can get on well with most people, if even for a short period. White supremacists and members of the SWP aside, obviously. It's the same at work. I 'd rather get on with people than fight them, but I wont hold back from a bit of verbal if I have to. Only very occasionaly do those I can't be arsed with get a force ten "FUCK OFF".

My most recent incident of "toe to toe spit in the face" verbals was with the second chef, "Raul". I don't mind admitting I was left shaking after it. I am rarely bettered in such confrontations, and there is no one on here who can contradict me! "Raul", though, is different gravy, very different gravy. He is a cold, silent, brooding, loner of an enigma wrapped in a chefs jacket wrapped in a mystery. These are qualities that I usually admire. But not when they combine to create fear.

Little is known about him. Some say he is from that bastion of liberal thinking and free love, Larne. Some say he was crafted from a block of ice left over from an ice age of millenia ago. He doesn't sweat. Not a drop, even when the temperature reaches silly degrees. He has no reflection and casts shadows even when there is no light. Children and animals fear him. He was the subject of the Tom Waits song "Whats he building in there?". He has no known friends save for an old pairing knife he calls "bleedy". He thumbs it's point with un-nerving regularity. He hates waiters and people with hands in general as he heats the plates to a point were you can hear the food bubbling on the way to the table. When not shouting he speaks in a low montone voice, and never repeats himself. When he laughs you cant see him. When you look into his blood shot eyes you see nothing but the bodies of dead waiters piled high. He is the blackness, the night, the chef who never eats. He is darkness personafied. There is a special place for him in hell when he returns. And he likes it like that. He is the devils personal chef.

All I wanted was a fucking staff meal. Cooker jockey.