Captain Condishuns outs me as a meal prepper. So, at my factory job, there's this planetesimal who's accreting mass like it was the late heavy bombardment.  I'll call him Harry, 'cause that's his fucking name. Anyway, one lovely afternoon, I am in the break room, aggravating the water molecules in my lunch by exposing it to microwave radiation in the electromagnetic spectrum, when Harry manifests in the door frame, effectively blocking my only means of escape in case of fire, and begins to aggressively sniff the air.  After a few seconds, his snout having failed him in the identification of possible edible matter, he states "That smells good", then asks me "whut is it?" After telling Harry that it's black bean chicken, with habanero salsa and cucumber skyrhey, you gotta treat yo self! ...with a high protein (~70g), high fiber (~20g) meal that comes in at ~600 calories and satiates you for quite a long time, I get asked where my meal comes from.  Thinking Harry means the ingredients, I begin to say "The chicken boob is from Costco, but the other stuff is from..." At this point, Harry cuts me off, and, with a look of mild surprise (read: scrunching up his fat face to attempt the emotion of confusion, but instead succeeding in making it look like a shriveled ballsack), oinks out "You made that?! I wish I had time to make healthy food." "It doesn't take a lot of time", I tell Harry.  "You can prep everything in a few minutes, throw the cold ingredients in containers and into the fridge, toss the hot ingredients in the crock pot, and portion it out in the morning.  Take those, and throw 'em in the freezer, and you're set for a good chunk of your meals for the week.  Quick and easy!" After a bit of stalled inertia, Harry begins to make another face.  This one takes a shape which I interpret to mean disgust and, perhaps, mild anger.  Sort of the thing I imagine would become permanent if he were walking through an endless produce aisle.  "You're a meal prepper?!", he oinks in astonishment.  "Wait until I tell the rest of the guys that you're a meal prepper!" Now, I'm usually quick witted, and I don't have much of a filter between brain and mouth but, if it wasn't for the fact that it took Harry more than a few ticks of the atomic clock to dislodge himself from the door frame, and get back into a waddling position, I probably wouldn't have had a comeback. As it were, all I could say was "Well I'd tell 'em all that you're a fat fuck, but nobody would be surprised."