Saga of the fuckin' macaroni and cheese (fiction)

Chester reached his limit. He blew his top, he climbed the peak, he refused to answer his Pavlovian bell. Chester got pissed and it changed his life. And it all culminated in the saga of the fuckin' macaroni and cheese.

He had prepared the meal as the evening's entertainment, i.e. the internet and marijuana. As Chester chewed his first bite he closed his eyes and spit out the mac 'n cheese in complete disgust.

He stood up and lamented the fact that, at age 23, he was a failure. Sure, he was only 23, but fuck how old was, say, Louis Armstrong when he became successful? Of course, Chester had no idea (he would wonder later why he chose Louis Armstrong, of all people), but he did know that everybody got the breaks in life before he did.

He went into the kitchen, grabbed the pot of mac 'n cheese, and began to cry.

Why can't I have the real stuff? The Kraft stuff in the blue box? No, it's always the fuckin' generic shit. Butter? No, thanks, I want the cheap margarine with the trans fats and god-knows-what-else. Next it'll be powdered milk. It'll be like in was in Yuma. It'll be like my fuckin' childhood, cabrón.

Chester threw the starchy contents of the warm scratched-up pot into the trash can and banged the empty pot on the stove. 

This has got to fuckin' end, man.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, slamming the door behind him.