Gorden Ramsey x Lamb Sauce

How tf do you spell sueits suits seuits

As Gorden was snacking on his crusty ass grape hoe chicken, he pondered two things: (1) why Thanos was alive and working as a chicken fryer and (420) why the universe was guiding him on a mysterious quest to find the lamb sauce. Was it a reward for his work in the food industry? Or was it a punishment for something he had done? The coincidences were too great for his quest to happen by chance. It had to be a divinely guided experience written in the stars or whatever. He continued driving through the countryside, listening to the radio and watching the sun set over the horizon. This brought Gorden the first bit of peace he had experienced in a while. No yelling from the kitchen, no impatient customers, no under seasoned food. Just him and the road.

After a few more hours in the car, Gorden began to feel tired. He began looking for an exit to find a hotel and get some rest after his long day of driving. He pulled over off exit 17 and drove down the street, scanning his surroundings for a place to sleep. He noticed a sign for Homewood Suites, not knowing if the writer was legally allowed to say that because it's trademarked but she's fucking going with it anyways and if she gets sued whatever. Anyways, Gorden drove into the parking lot and got out of his car, pulling his suitcase behind him. He walked briskly into the lobby where he was greeted by the clerk at the front desk. "Room for one please". The clerk rustled through some papers and pulled out a key. "Here you go sir, floor 8, room 107, doors' on the left". Gorden sister snatched the key from the clerk and went to the elevator. He pressed the button for the seventh floor and waited. But the elevator started going down. Gorden was confused, but who knows. Perhaps someone on the floor below him needed to go up too. He waited a minute, but the elevator never stopped. "What the- HEY!" He banged furiously and britishly on the door. "YOUR BLOODY LIFT IS BROKEN". The elevator kept descending, faster and faster, with Gorden inside, cursing the metal box which betrayed him. The elevator slowed and came to a steady stop. The doors opened with a ding and Gorden peered nervously out. It was not the eighth floor, it wasn't even a floor. The doors had slid open to reveal a white room. It was as big as a football field and as tall as 37 Gordens stacked on top of each other. It was tall. And white. And ominously quiet. Gorden stepped out into the room and was suddenly started by a dark figure moving towards him. He pulled out the three inch stainless steel straight edge folding knife only $17.95 plus free shipping and handling pocket knife that he kept with him at all times (after the banana incident he never left the house unarmed or at least unprepared)
and stood his ground as the figure approached. As it came closer something broke the silence. A song. Renegade, renegade renegade. It came closer and closer. The song got louder. And then it stopped. Gorden froze in fear. And the person came into vision.

Charli Damelio.