Ancestral Ghost: “Look at you, you’re a failure! You don’t conquer, you don’t pillage! All you do is stare at that light-box all day and push those buttons.”
Me: [sighs]
Ancestral Ghost: “You don’t even have a wife, let alone any concubines! At your age I had seventeen sons to ensure a healthy battle for my title! And just today, when that man disrespected you in your metal carriage, you didn’t even murder him!”
Me: [gets up, heads to kitchen]
Ancestral Ghost: “And another thing—wait, where are you going? Come back here while I’m berating you!”
Me: [goes to cupboard, opens it, rummages around]
Ancestral Ghost: “Pay attention, damn it—what are you doing?”
Me: [grabs the pepper, cinnamon, and nutmeg, shows them to the ghost with a Price is Right spokesmodel flourish]
Ancestral Ghost: “What—what are you doing?”
Me: [throws them directly into the trash]
Ancestral Ghost: [incoherent screaming]