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This must be one of those trick questions. Out of all the customers Cheffy's cooking has killed this week, which one was your follower? Help us narrow down the range.
Spritzes you with a squirt from her bottle.
*reached for the high-pressure fire hose*
The Cultist: My follower was here, just hours ago, with all eyes out. Performing a sacred duty.
Robed Bodyguard 1: Weren't they just sent out to get alcohol?
The Cultist: Shut up. They were to fetch the ceremonial alcohol.
Robed Bodyguard 1: Right. And what was this 'ceremonial alcohol', as you specified for them? Oh right. Lite Beer.
The Cultist: Heretic.
Robed Bodyguard 1: I'm not a heretic I just feel that you shouldn't be using your power as our leader to send people out to steal booze.
The Cultist: Kill him!
Robed Bodyguard 2: No.
The Cultist: I shall do it myself then! *whips out a gold knife and places it around Robed Bodyguard 1's throat*
Robed Bodyguard 2: Hey! That's my best mate! If you hurt him- *whips out a pistol and points it at The Cultist's Head* -I'll fire without hesitation!
The Cultist: HERETICS! Heretics, the lot of you!
Robed Bodyguard 1: I had to ask, didn't I?
Oh hell! We got a Mexican Standoff here!
*pulls out revolver*
...wait, who should I be aiming at?
FART
So many bar fights lately. Makes me want to be a carnivorous zombie
Now, now. Don't blame the Mexicans. They also gave us tacos, and Taco Bell, and ... uh ... more tacos. Oh!--And tequila. And yappy little chihuahua lap dogs ...
On second thought, yes, blame the Mexicans.
*Polishes a glass while watching another wall of text sail by*
La da da da dum dee dum doo ...
Feel free to snack on combatants to your sticky traps' content. Fights break out because customers get bored, and customers get bored when there are no predators around to chase them.
Thick-Billed Longspur and Plant monster in a pot
Zany Zanes, Thick-Billed Longspur, and Plant monster in a pot
Miss Chief I’m afraid you’ll have to pay extra
For descriptions of what I swallow
But I assure you it’s quite large
And ecstasy does follow
Perhaps you could involve a game
If you want to add a kick
A prize awarded to the person
Who can swallow the most… uhm.. beer
Or "swallow the most arsenic," as in absinthe. Oh, sure, that removes your clever pun, but it preserves our PG-13 rating. (Which these days is closer to PG-21 anyway.)
Oh, who'm I kidding? This RMB is more like PG-65: "No one under retirement age admitted unless they're wheeling in a parent in a wheelchair."
Zombie Penguins, Zany Zanes, Consuela de la Morrela, Alta Sil, and 1 otherPlant monster in a pot
I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about. The first stanza demonstrates an initial reluctance to share an alcohol addiction while the second exemplifies the nature of the addiction by suggesting one should consume as much as possible through game. The PG-13 is upheld, the poem adheres to the theme, and the topic is fitting for this establishment. Certainly no one can derive any other meaning than the one I have just described, and if they can, some time in the chapel down the street would serve them well.
Brocklandia, Zombie Penguins, Zany Zanes, Consuela de la Morrela, and 1 otherPlant monster in a pot
There once was a cat that owned a bar
and people came from near and far
for soup and leeks
and the one that speaks
on a fountain spewing out tar
Brocklandia, Zombie Penguins, Zany Zanes, Consuela de la Morrela, and 3 othersAlta Sil, Zombie ducks, and Miss Chief
The Cultist: Ah, you are a heretic! HERETIC!
The Cultist: Gold isn't a good metal for a knife, you say? You heretic!
Robed Bodyguard 1: Well, he does have a point th-
The Cultist: HERETIC!
Robed Bodyguard 1: ...why do I even bother.
The Cultist: Well, you'll have to deal with my gun of SOLID GOLD! *pulls out said solid gold gun, pointing it at 
The Georgeian Empire*
Robed Bodyguard 1: I don't think that's-
The Cultist: HERETIC!
The Cultist: HERETICAL FOOL!
I have doubts about the firing capabilities of that thing. I move my revolver from pointing at the Cultist's head to the hand holding the revolver and fire, moving the gun back to the Cultists head after firing
Hey! *grabs a rolled up magazine*
Please rent us a room if you’re going to continue with that. Didn’t your planter ever teach you some tact?
Silly Plant monster in a pot, I have neuropathy in my legs. I can’t feel a thing. If you want my attention, order me the “pan-fried mystery meat”. I’m feeling lucky today and my name is reaching the top of the stomach pump sign-up sheet again.
Oh, I don’t know what the chapel is now. I’ve never been inside. The last time I tried, the staff told me to get an exorcism then barred my entry. A little rude if you ask me, my demons were crying the rest of the day. They don’t handle rejection well and they’re only babies right now. They like Cheffy’s cooking though — they say they can taste the souls.
I am a god. A god of what you ask? I don’t know, I can’t do anything special. Perhaps I missed an email or was late to a meeting. But I assure you I am one! If only I could find the website that told me…
Zany Zanes and Plant monster in a pot
Ow!
Maybe the God of balance. You don't do anything on one certain side of a spectrum or anything. You just make some sort of... peace?
If you wanna be technical, the planter was a planter, and not a teacher.
They didn't teach a thing...
Misser Brock, I believe HR spoke to you before about showing me your 'high-pressure fire hose'! 😳
Alta Sil and Miss Chief
The Cultist: ARGH! MY HAND! *drops the gun, and slits Robed Bodyguard 1's throat with his apparently only gold covered knife*
Robed Bodyguard 2: NO! DIE YOU BASTARD! *fires at The Cultist*
The Cultist: HERE- aurk! *shot in the heart*
The Cultist: ...here... tic. *dies*
Uh... uh...
*panickily shoots Robed Bodyguard 2 in the head, who then dies*
...
*looks at 
Brocklandia*
...just as planned?
«12. . .4,5764,5774,5784,5794,5804,5814,582. . .5,0635,064»
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