Chapter 1236: Pitchfork Clutch

Seeing Ruben pull out a corpse—or a partial one at that—each time he'd sink in the four prongs of his pitchfork to the smorgasbord of expired pounds of flesh made me realize he had some bit of strength in him since the way these corpses were stuck to each other was even more than conjoined twins squished by a hydraulic press.

Weird metaphor aside, it'd definitely take a while for a single pitchfork to do all that work but I soon became desensitized to the surprises when Quinn came in bearing the last one.

I had to say it, "Dude. It's hours before lunch, the fuck you brought your fork for—"

"YOU— SHADDAP! IT'S EMBARRASSING AS IS!"