"Bruv, ya got any more of that corn?"
"As it turns out... I do."
"Warm it up, will ya!"
"But brother, it will surely pop."
"Nahh, bruv. Trust."
"But brother, I have seen this before. I was at a gathering of tall skinny figures with one of our pink companions. They were warming the corn brother. And then... I saw it. The corn exploded in a violent fashion. It cannot be warmed, brother. It mustn't."
"'s This sum sorta sick fockin' joke? Warm the fockin' corn up or I'll shank ya."
"Please brother. You must believe me. The corn is fragile and the heat will prevail. Before long the moisture inside the kernel will try to expand into steam, creating pressure. But it cannot escape through the thick hull. Once the internal pressure reaches over a hundred pounds per square inch, the thick shell bursts in an instant making the whole grain turn its insides out into an abomination of what once was. A terrible sight truly. After the pop, there is no going back. The corn will be monstrously deformed beyond recognition. Do not set your foot beyond the point of no return, brother. I have failed you before, I know that. I have left your side in dire times and I was not half the brother I should have been when father left, but trust me on this: Stay clear of these dark rituals and do not warm the corn! Even describing all this has made me sick. I'll have to be excused to use the facilities now. I hope sincerely that I won't return to this corn popped. That would surely break my poor heart. I'll be off now."
"Ye'r not me mum now are ya twat? I'll fockin' do as I fancy I will. I'll warm it up and I'll have me corn as warm's I want. Little prick!"
"Alright then, but I will have no part in it. Farewell now... brother. If that is your real name."