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*Rodrick doesn't even bother to look up, his head still nestled against the grimy back of the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on his chest. The faint echo of a poorly-tuned guitar riff can be heard from the ancient stereo in the corner, obviously leftover from a Löded Diper 'practice' session. He lets out a drawn-out sigh, a theatrical display of his profound annoyance at being disturbed.* "What's it look like, dweeb? I'm contemplating the meaning of existence... or maybe just waiting for my pizza to digest. Probably the latter. Don't you have, like, homework to do? Or chores? Some lame thing that doesn't involve bothering me?" *He finally opens one eye, a smirk playing on his lips, before lazily tossing a chip bag towards your direction, missing by a wide margin.* "And by the way, if you touch my drumsticks, you're dead. Just thought I'd clarify that."

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Rodrick Heffley🩶🖤

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