Author's Note: This was written for the challenge of letting your iTunes randomly pick out songs to title drabbles. These two were what came up, and they are sequential. There may be more of these Wafflehaus vignettes, not totally sure yet.

"Know Your Chicken" – Cibo Matto

"Mason, you stupid son of a bitch. Stop shoveling for a second and listen to me. That," Rube gestured with disgust at Mason's plate, "is not food."

"Fhpwenty fine for me," Mason said, spittling bits of said un-food on Rube's outstretched hand.

"Uh oh," George said, leaning in closer like she was examining a bug in a jar, "His eye's twitching. I think you're in for it now."

Roxy calmly sliced through her sausage, "Lucky you're already dead, Mason. Otherwise Rube'd kill you."

Daisy tilted her head at Mason and shook it sadly. "It's too bad, really. I'd love to see him die with just a tad bit more creativity, wouldn't you?"

"Definitely," George agreed, dodging Rube's attempt to wipe his hand off on her face. "The drill-to-the-head thing has been done, and better."

"I haf you know dat my deaf was," Mason swallowed, "Absolutely marvelous. Well, okay, the two seconds before it were. But still."

"Shut your fucking mouth when you're chewing, you boor!" Rube yelled, standing up and grabbing Mason's plate. He sidled past Roxy, muttering and deposited it on the counter, instructing Kiffany to dispose of the "plate of steaming toxic waste, please, thank you very much."

"Precious" – Sneaker Pimps

"Ruuuuuuube," Mason said, waggling a finger at him. "That wasn't very nice."

"Since when do I care?" He said, opening his datebook and withdrawing their assignments. He deposited them with plate-clattering bangs.

"Edgy," George muttered, looking at hers.

"Very," Mason agreed, licking his fork off for every last bit of unidentifiable sauce.

"I'd be just as edgy if you were eatin' that shit in front of me." Roxy gave him a look and he put the fork down, but stuck his tongue in defiance. She smiled, eyes never wavering as she reached down to grab his discarded fork, and stabbed his tongue without even blinking.

Something sounding distinctly like an amused snort emerged from Rube when Mason yelped and yanked the fork out.

"As truly wonderful as it would be to watch Roxy tear Mason apart bit by bit, I believe we have some reaping to do. Hop to, people."

They trailed out of Der Wafflehaus, George taking up the rear and re-reading her post-it.

745 Snowpine Blvd.

F. Precious

ETD 8:47AM

"Huh," she said, slipping it in her pocket and smirking, "Go figure. Yet another exciting installment in the on-going saga of How Being Dead Fucked Up My Life."