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Formaggio woke up at precisely 3:26 every morning. He had a very specific routine, and nothing, and I mean nothing was about to fuck up his schedule.
He had come to the conclusion, after nearly getting caught many times prior, that the best method of sneaking downstairs would be by shrinking himself. The only downside to this was that what was originally a simple step was now a towering cliff that would fuck him up if he wasn't careful.
After a bit of a struggle, he made it downstairs unbeknownst to his fellow housemates. In a strange turn of events, however, as he bounded around the corner and into the kitchen, low and behold, his bitch ass rat husband Illuso was there, in front of the fridge, eating his beloved shredded cheese.
Everyone in the house knew not to touch the cheese, knowing that Formaggio had stuck his grimy, unwashed bare hands into the fermented cow's milk. But of course, Illuso doesn't give a flying fuck about morals.
"YOU FAT BITCH!" Formaggio snapped.
Illuso was startled in more ways than one. "EX-FUCKING 'SCUSE ME?"
"YOU FOKIN' HEARD ME, YOU BIG TIDDY WHORE. THE FACK YOU DOIN WIT' MY SHIT!?"
"I DON'T SEE YOUR FUCKING NAME ON IT, MIDGET"
"YE' THAS CUZ MA SPITS ON IT, THAT MEANS IS MINE"
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, I'M HUNGRY! ALSO STOP STICKING YOUR FILTHY HANDS IN THE CHEESE, BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW WHAT YOU DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, YOU INCEL."
"WELL AT LEAST I AIN'T A MICHAEL JACKSON RIP OFF"
Illuso gasped dramatically. So extremely overdramatically that you could almost hear the cheesy indie soap opera sfx. He did at least 12 double takes followed by several more short, astonished gasps. It was so dramatic, it gave K*m K*rdass a run for her money. Formaggio just pulled out some of the most scandalous shit, it could get both him and Illuso cancelled by every 13 year old blue haired girl on tw*tter. Illuso could feel his Inst*gram follower count plummeting before his very eyes. He probably shit his pants, but I'll leave that up to your imaginatio- just kidding he definitely shit his pants I ain't even gonna lie about that shit.
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK-"
"I WILL, WHEN YOU STOP STEALING INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY!"
Illuso takes this opportunity to grab a conveniently placed lemon and squeeze the juice directly into Formaggio's eyes. Formaggio, in a pain-fueled rage, grabs the nearest chair and hurls it in Illuso's general direction. Long story short, the two had to use their allowance to pay for the chair, and Prosciutto had to put a padlock on the fridge at night.