Thomas's POV: It's a normal, depressing day like any other. I just got done cutting myself, as per usual. I go out of the house, wearing my Gordon Ramsay sweatshirt. I fucking love Gordon Ramsay. He's the only reason I am still living. He probably doesn't know I exist, but I am a pretty popular tank engine if I do say so m'self. Everytime I see his beautiful screaming face, my engine just, OOF, it ROARS. I'm on my way to pick up a new pack of razor blades, but then I see a poster. It reads, 'HYAAAAH! COME MEET GORDON RAMSAY HERE IF YOURE THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE AND ONLY HIM! TOMORROW AT NOON, DON'T BE LATE! HYAAAAH!' OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. I NEED THIS. MY ENGINE IS ON FIRE. I. WILL. FUCK. GORDON.
Gordon's POV: I hate every single god damn human in this world. If only there was a machine out there who could fulfill my needs and desires. I need a train. Trains are the only thing that can fulfill my fantasies. I don't fucking care about cooking, or my show. I. NEED. TRAIN SEX. BADLY. I'm going to look up the best train out there. *Looks it up* Thomas The Tank Engine? Sounds desirable. I will draw him in with a poster. I will be inside of this train, in more ways than one.
