My client complained to me, “Look at this, HiC, this is the worst last meal in history.” I think he had coke to drink, and soggy fried chicken and fries. I told him that he should have saved the fries for me if he wasn’t going to have them.

That was exactly where my brain went, too. I don’t really know how to process the rest of this story, but I definitely know how I feel about that.

This is sad, but diet frosted lemonade? If you're going to be put to death...shouldn't you just be like, fuck it, I'll just have the calories?