"I don't remember giving you a choice," Simms growled as he spooned another glob of mayo onto a sandwich. "Pick up the fucking plates and get upstairs, you piece of shit, or I'm going to pour this meat slushie in the the sink here down your throat." That would have been a shame, being out a slave, essentially, but at least he wouldn't have to have this argument.
As if it would make anything better, he threw in a little more calmly, "Don't worry, I'll mix them up real good by the time you come back, so you won't even know which ones are the bad ones. No one's going to blame you for what happens. Now get back to work."