"The kid's just here to cook. I don't want to drive all the way to your place just to pick up my dog."

He kicks off his own shoes, aiming vaguely for the front door. It was a filming day today, and he hates the sort of shoes he has to wear. He also hates being choked by his own damn tie, so that comes off as well, in an angry flurry of knot-untying.

"You wanted to throw him off a cliff, remember?"

UGH. "Don't shoot him now. Next time," Wilford instructs.

He's already inside the house now. Nothing to be done for it, since Wilford doesn't want to clean up blood from the carpet.