“Quesadilla! Why is there no salt on my swine?!”
Far to the East, the realm’s new manager Spam shouts at her brainless Chilian manservant. Despite her managerial commitment to Lenghorn, she has diabolically crafted an alter-ego which, in her spare time, she utilizes to control the activities of the Lenghornian’s rivals.
“Apologies, my liege,” the Chilian manservant says, tilting a salt shaker above the steaming boar’s head which Spam is ironically about to consume. Ironically, of course, because pork is in fact an ingredient of actual spam.
“Hmmph. That is quite enough.” Spam asserts with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Off you go.”
Sneering at his salty contribution to his masters meal, Quesadilla slowly waddles his way out of the massive dining hall, leaving Spam to her own devices.
Mmmm grumble chew chomp pghlegm swallow
Having her fill with the remainder of the swine, Spam stands up and waltzes to the tower’s open balcony, looking out on the lands below.
Ha! These stupid Lenghornians shall never know what hit them. She thinks to herself, creepily rubbing her hands together. They think they’re the only restaurant in town? Please. My Chilians will make mince meat of these weaklings.
Spam’s rise to power was no accident. After having Netflixed and chilled on many occasions, she has heard the Star Wars plot line play out on far too many occasions. She now knows all too well how Senator Palpatine disguised himself as the leader of the Republic, yet simultaneously led the Empire in the shadows as Darth Sidious, unbeknownst to all. She intends to use the very same tactics against the Lenghornians, cultivating a massive army within the Chilian empire to overtake the pathetic Lenghornian villagers.
They’ll never know what hit them.
Suddenly, a deep voice bellows from within the Tower stairwell.
“Spam! Our army is nearing completion. The Lenghornians shall all die!” The voice shouts.
Swiveling to face the stairwell, Spam holds her hand out, beckoning the voice to present itself.
“Show yourself, General! You know I detest that which I cannot see!”
“Yes, my liege.” The deep voice says as a clicking sound manifests in the stairwell. Seconds later, a jacked hairy werewolf emerges, ducking under the stone doorway leading into Spam’s chamber.
“Ah, there you are.” Spam says, attempting to discern whether he should button one more button on his shirt or if she actually likes the small amount of chest hair that is revealed.
“Tell me more of my army!” She demands.
“Yes, my liege.” Will the Wolf says. “The Chilians are coming along splendidly. They are as brainless and obedient as the Lenghornian cooks! Muahahaha!” He cackles.
“Excellent.” Spam says as she adjusts the Lenghornian floor plan into a chaotic calamity of confusion. “Soon we will launch our offensive. No longer will we have to tell customers we don’t have chips and salsa. Muahahaha!”
“You are so wise, my liege.” Will says, bowing his hairy wolf head in respect as he subtly checks her out because he cannot resist a hot manager. “I shall ascertain that our forces are well prepared to destroy the weak Lenghornians.”
“See that you do.” Spam says, dismissing him.
Leaning over the balcony, Spam peers over her lands in anticipation of the battle to come.
Time for your annual review, Lenghornians. Muahahahaha!!