|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| I welcome thee into our fair eatery family. Lo, yonder toddler her Happy Meal overturns. Our ivory floor shant be covered in slop; you know the drill, get a bucket and mop! | |
 | |  |
|
 |
| | |
| Away I clean, fearest thyself not! I command yon fell stain, Out! Out, damned spot! | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Yo, Bethie, The end of my shift on the grill draws nigh. Once you've polished the floor, there lies in my doublet a dispenser of Special Sauce that must needs cleaned. | |
| | |
|
 |
| | |
| Fie, now, Duncan, O' porcine grillboy, lest your wiener be caught in some big ebon buns. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Help! Help! Afire am I. Pushed into the vat of hellish lard. Prithee extinguish, ere I make an ash of myself. | |
| | |
|
 |
| | |
| Come hither, Elizabeth, Duncan hath in fryer fell. Thy promotion awaits, now cook the burghers the burgers. | |
| | |
|
|
|
