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“Battle stations!! Cooks! To the wall!!”
As the sun reaches its highest point during the midday Spring afternoon, the Lenghornian chariot, led by Bernard and the Fairies, can be seen as they gallop over the grassy hills leading to the Tower of Management. It’s clear that the managers have used the majority of their resources to build grandiose banisters and beautiful lawns, only allocating a small allowance to those of their subordinates.
Hurriedly rushing to man their stations on the wall, the managers’ team of brainless cooks begins to notch their Silver Arrows of Ware.
“Fire at will!” The local manager shouts, sheepishly falling back to the safety of the Tower. “My lord!” He shouts to the district manager. “We must make haste, we cannot afford to lose you. Quickly! To the top of the Tower!” He adds, leading the way back into the Keep.
Sluggishly hopping alongside the district manager, the local manager’s hunch begins to slow him down. Seeing the difficulty his faithful minion is having, the district manager turns around to face him.
“Come!” He shouts. “We have no time to waste!”
Realizing that he will only slow his lord down, the local manager falls to his knees in defeat.
“Go…” He mutters. “You must save yourself for the good of the realm.” He adds, holding a hand out, grasping out at the nothingness before him.
Reluctantly nodding his head, the district manager agrees.
“Your sacrifice shall be sung by the bards for a thousand eternities, my loyal subject!” The district manager cries, shedding a crimson tear of strawberry lemonade as he turns to scale the stairs to the top of the Tower.
As he nears the top, he peers down out of the open stone window to view the events that are transpiring on the battlefield. The Lenghornians have breached the gate, and are slowly making their way toward the keep, nearing the Tower itself. As he leans back to return to his ascent he notices that Connee, Queen of the House of Front, has scaled the wall and is hovering over the defeated local manager.
“MUAHAHAHAHA!!” She shrieks with elation. “How would you like YOUR steak cooked?!” She shouts, sprinkling a pinch of prairie dust over the manager’s head. Suddenly, as prophecized, the local manager’s arms violently turn into chili cheese fries, as his legs snap into stalks of steamed asparagus. His feet, previously covered by slip-free restaurant shoes, quickly begin morphing into loaded baked potatoes. Finally, just as his last screams begin to echo across the realm, his head pops into a 16 oz cut of prime rib, with au jus pouring from his eye sockets.
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” The district manager cries, witnessing the horrific events with his own eyes. “Rest easy my son. I shall avenge you!” He shouts to himself, returning to his climb to the top of the Tower.