008. [accidental video]
[Feed opens to John...singing. In his best falsetto, one may recognize Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog." He's also fiddling with something in a frying pan.
Not only is he singing, he's also doing the instrumental parts as they crop up. He's got no good voice to speak of, but it's not entirely terrible.
Just a bit terrible.]
Oh yeah, ohh ohh ohh
[What is he making? Hoshi-! Breakfast! An omelet! He's in nothing more than a wife beater undershirt and belted black slacks, belted to the furthest it can go with how damn thin his waist is.
He holds the pan aloft, inhaling as he riffs a guitar with his voice, and goes to flip it.
It flips! And about a third of it falls out over the pan's handle and disappears. The singing stops.]
Damn it, omelet. You were doing so well, too.
[He leans down, out of sight, and moves around to toss the remnants of the bad, bad omelet away while the rest of it cooks. Coming back, he frowns at the pan and proceeds to pile it out on a plate. It's not going to win any cooking contests, the malformed blob that it is, but it'll do. He frowns at the abomination of an omelet and sighs heavily, poking it with a fork as it steams. Time's up, feed ends.]
Not only is he singing, he's also doing the instrumental parts as they crop up. He's got no good voice to speak of, but it's not entirely terrible.
Just a bit terrible.]
Oh yeah, ohh ohh ohh
[What is he making? Hoshi-! Breakfast! An omelet! He's in nothing more than a wife beater undershirt and belted black slacks, belted to the furthest it can go with how damn thin his waist is.
He holds the pan aloft, inhaling as he riffs a guitar with his voice, and goes to flip it.
It flips! And about a third of it falls out over the pan's handle and disappears. The singing stops.]
Damn it, omelet. You were doing so well, too.
[He leans down, out of sight, and moves around to toss the remnants of the bad, bad omelet away while the rest of it cooks. Coming back, he frowns at the pan and proceeds to pile it out on a plate. It's not going to win any cooking contests, the malformed blob that it is, but it'll do. He frowns at the abomination of an omelet and sighs heavily, poking it with a fork as it steams. Time's up, feed ends.]