The 13th century Swedish peasant boy who's crashing on my couch keeps eating my leftover General Tso's. I always tell him he can order his own but he's all "oh no, just wonton soup is fine with me, it reminds me of winters at home by the fire" but when I open the fridge the next day, what do I see? Not my leftovers! I don't even think they had wontons in medieval Sweden.


















