There was, that morning, a low, disgruntled humming sound emiting from deep within the throat of the young, broad-shouldered man stooping slightly to peer into the refrigerator that seemed to no longer hold any of the fine produce and ingredients that he had picked up for Monday morning breakfast anymore, but instead held a lot less and nothing that seemed particularly appetising.

Least of all because Wayne got this distinct feeling that things had changed again, and, really, now, if you were going to be a weird island with things like aliens and talking cats and dogs and magic and whatever the fuck else, it seemed that the least you could do was just stay the same type of weird for a while instead of going and mixing it up and giving everyone fucking whiplash all the time. It just seemed impolite; get your shit together, island. Clean it up.

The cabinets didn't seem to fare much better, though he did find a few bags of potatoes and an exorbitant amount of potatoes (not very good potatoes, really, they were some of the saddest potatoes he'd ever seen, but they'd do) and canned gravy in there.

And if a good old Canadian country boy like himself couldn't make do with potatoes and gravy (and some mystery meat, too), well, then, he might as well just turn in his citizenship right now, pack up, and move on out to El-Laaaay to go eat tah-cos and go hiking, fuck.

[[ /monday spam! Open common room is open, it's breakfast, it's tradition noooooow!]]