Jeff: So, look. Am I specially challenged or look at this thing, is it not fitting? Look, it's not fitting.

Mr. Dog Poop: You're specially challenged because mine fits.

Jeff: Mine won't fit. I have film. I kind of want to pick this up. I have film growing, it's cooking. It's very hot on my hands, but I have tough hands.

Mr. Dog Poop: Oh, you're going to burn the shit out of your hands.

Jeff: But, literally, this top does not fit.

Mr. Dog Poop: Do you have the bottom on it?

Jeff: What bottom?

Mr. Dog Poop: The tray for the hard-boiled eggs.

Jeff: This thing, it's supposed to be underneath it?

Mr. Dog Poop: Yes. That's what makes the top fit.

Jeff: Whoopsie. Well, I didn't know that.

Mr. Dog Poop: Oh, of course, you didn't because you don't know how to cook eggs.

Jeff: I know how to cook eggs; I don't know how to use the sandwich maker.

Mr. Dog Poop: Who would expect you to know how to cook eggs with these deluxe devices that cook eggs?

Jeff: Hey, to be fair, I am a tremendous egg chef. I just don't know how to use these galavanting, sensitive appliances.

Mr. Dog Poop: This looks just like an egg McMuffin from this sandwich maker, which just keeps going and going, going, even though it has a timer on it.

Jeff: All right. Now, it fits. Goddamn it. Mr. Dog poop was right, I'm stupid. I'm going to eat another hard-boiled egg in shame.

Mr. Dog Poop: Mr. Dog Poop is always right. So, we have what? These are supposed to be seven hard-boiled eggs, right? Correct?

Jeff: I put the maximum amount in, yeah.

Mr. Dog Poop: Ow, shit.

Jeff: It sounds right.

Mr. Dog Poop: Sounds good. I'm going to let it cool. Ow. I'm going to let it cool down before I try to crack it. How many have you eaten?

Jeff: Three. About to be four.

Mr. Dog Poop: I ate the poached eggs so I'm ahead of you. I ate part of the egg sandwich, I gave one to Fat Chris, but he just turned his nose up at it and said, I'm going to stop at McDonald's on the way home.

Jeff: He turned his nose up at it; he shut down the damn screen.

Mr. Dog Poop: He said, yeah, he shut down the damn screen. Ow. This is just too hot. It's too hot.

Jeff: I just ate some eggshells.

Mr. Dog Poop: It's going back on, Jeff. You told me it was going, ow. You told me it was going to go off, but then it goes back on. I've burned every part of my body, I've burned all of my fingers, my thumbs, and now my wrist here touching this hot egg.

Jeff: Excuse me.

Mr. Dog Poop: Ow. Ah.

Jeff: I burned my dick earlier. Don't forget.

Mr. Dog Poop: Jeff.

Jeff: Still the biggest, seriously in pain.

Mr. Dog Poop: That sounds like a personal problem.

Jeff: It already burned.

Mr. Dog Poop: Nobody cares about Jeff Macolino, they only care about Mr. Dog Poop. They're going to be sending emails tomorrow. Go to my GoFundMe page, mrdogpoop.gofundme.com, and send some money so that I can get my hands repaired. And don't worry about Jeff, don't go to Jeff Macolino.

Jeff: We should start competing GoFundMe pages. Jeff's dick can fill up your pants.

Mr. Dog Poop: To see who feels more sorry for us. Okay, so this thing is hot. Ouch.

Jeff: I would bet money that your hands would beat my dick.

Mr. Dog Poop: We're running out of time. We need to get this egg peeled. I need some of those oven. Ow.

Jeff: Here, take them through the TV or the computer, whatever.

Mr. Dog Poop: It's freaking hot. Ow. I don't have enough.

Jeff: I have to turn the egg poacher on, by the way.

Mr. Dog Poop: It's obviously hot.

Jeff: I'm going to eat my fifth hard-boiled egg.

Mr. Dog Poop: Ow. Ah. Ow.

Jeff: Mr. Dog Poop is providing quality entertainment.

Mr. Dog Poop: What kind of an idiot peels a steaming hot hard-boiled egg.

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