asdasdasdaseasease

so what's the quest doggo?

Some of the reasons (you guess?) for the current status quo seem to go over your head.
Yet, you don't fail to recognize the important ones. After all, you are smart.

-Your employees are paid in bananas and Shakesphere poems.
-A misterious, big, yet harmless group of shirtless black guys have taken a liking to just
stay at the main entrance and glare at everyone that's coming in.
-Your cooks and chef are always beating the shit out of each other.
-There are golden retrievers everywhere.
EVERYWHERE. The roof, the bathrooms, over
the tables, between your legs. They steal people's food from their tables but actually go
outside when they have to poo.
-Some people just come in to sit and cry, they don't eat, and they don't pay.
-You invested the last of your savings in a churro in order to study it, but it was stolen by a
plathypus.
-People always complain that the moans and screams of the musclemans doing squats and
deadlifts right next to them makes talking very hard.
-And this.

"T-this," the white man in a suit stands infront of you, next to his wife and daughter who grimace at you, "this is SHIT." The fork shakes as he rises it, showing you a slice of steak that's... white. He swallows, as his blonde hair waves and his blue eyes tremble. "I want a refund. I want a refund NOW!"

Please, he ordered it psuedo-anti-rare. That's a proper puedo-anti-rare cook on it.

>>881394
Fucker just wants free food. Sic the retrievers on him to retrieve im into submission.

>>881394
>this is SHIT.
>a slice of steak that's... white

This, good sir, does not appear to be SHIT but rather a slice of steak that's... white.

Our special albino white-meat steak with our secret-recipe white-cream marinade to be specific.
Consider yourself lucky to have a chance to try such a rare delicacy. And share it with your wife and daughter too, unless you wish to pay extra for our chef to prepare two more servings of this rare and expensive dish.

>>881540
"You /did/ order pseudo-rare." You point out, poking the steak. "This /is/ pseudo-rare."

...He seems offended. "This is white." The man takes it out of the fork and flings it to your
helmet. "WHITE!"

>>881692
"Go get em, boy." You snap your fingers at a golden retriever, then point at the guy. The dog
just looks at you waving its tail, its tongue joyfully dripping. "Unloyal fuck", you say, then
turn at the man.

>>881837
"This, good sir, does not appear to be SHIT," you inform the white, now almost red man,
politely, "but rather a slice of steak that's... white. Our special albino white-meat steak with
our secret-recipe white-cream marinade to be specific" You open both palms upwards,
meekly. "Which your ungrateful ass got for god-damned free, yet here we are."

"ARE YOU INSAAAANEEE?" he rumbles, taking a step forward, you take a step back.

"Consider yourself lucky, to have a chance to try such a rare delicacy," you point out, as the
mother crouches to hug her daughter, whispering in her ear as both of them look at
you, crying. "And share it with your wife and daughter too, unless you wish to pay extra for
our chef to prepare two more servings of this rare and expensive dish."

"BUT IT TASTES LIKE SHIT!" he explodes, smashing the fork against the floor, startling
some golden retrievers that soon are all around him smelling his pants and shoes. "Get these
fucking dogs off me!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" it's the daughter, crying as the mother death
stares at you.

"I WANT MY MONEY BACK!"

give the man his money back, but entirely in pennies if possible. Don't ask why we have that many pennies, we just do. Also, he got it for free, so not sure what the proper amount is - maybe that would involve charging HIM something?

Do nothing about the dogs; they're a hazard you have to expect around here.

>>881947
I mean really, why does he think you have this armor in the first place?

>>881911
Headbutt him for startling your dogs.

>>881947
"Fiiiiiiine!" raising your opens hands, you take a step back. "Be right ba-cky, oki doki?"

You turn from the man, humming under your breath as you head deeper into the saloon.
Some steps in, a mass of falling blue hair draws your direction. You step right behind it
and pat the waitress in the shoulder, which shakes on contact.

"Preah," the waitress turns to you, "tips".

What's looking at you is a girl in her bare twenties, with a wide, techy steel plaque over
her fringe spelling "TRY". An ominous "awwwwwwww" sounds as her eyes meet your
open palm.

And after just a few more trips, you are happily trotting across the saloon with a bag full of
coins, like one of those baldies in Monopoly. Straight into a destroyed family of three,
completely surrounded by happy golden dogs.

You extend the bag. The man looks at it, then stares straight into your eyes, a hard grimace
on his face.

>>882591

Until you smash your helm in it. He falls at once, with a single, fainting scream.

"We treat our dogs with the utmost respect around here," you calmly inform the man, his
mouth wide open as he covers his head with both hands. "Take your trash and get the fuck
out."

The last you see before the main door closes is a large group of shirtless black guys glaring at
the now shrieking family. Yup; that's one problem off the list.

You turn towards the restaurant. Dogs, bodybuilders, tears and yelling.

What now?

>>884840
The dogs are kind of pleasant, so you ignore them. For now.

Switch payment from Shakespeare poems to words of advice from Diogenes of Sinope, and tell the employees youre doing them a favor.

Mayhaps introduce the bodybuilders to the shameful cry babies?

>>884919
And replace the bananas with plantains. They're better for you.

>>884919
"When I look upon seamen, men of science and philosophers, man is the wisest of all beings;
when I look upon priests and prophets nothing is as contemptible as man. "

The blue haired robot, Preah, the bald and bearded fatty, Pedro, the black bald man that
always seems about to laugh, Bobo, and the white guy with maniacal depression, Carlos, all
nod slowly as they clap their hands like a broken machine. Except for Preah, who just
stares at you quizzically.

After some silence, Pedro raises a plantain. "So, is this our pay?" he asks, almost eagerly.

"I have nothing to ask but that you would remove to the other side, that you may not, by
intercepting the sunshine, take from me what you cannot give," you dictate, in harmony. "Which means, get the fuck out".

"Well, that does that", you think to yourself, as your underlings meekly walk out of your tattered office. You can still hear people crying and squatting, though.

Upon watching the television in your tattered office, you notice an ad for Socker Boppers and an idea sparks in your head about how to deal with the chefs...

> LET'S START BUYING DOG FOOD IN BULK, WE'LL DEEP FRY IT AND FEED IT, PUT IT IN SANDWHICHES AND FEED IT TO THE CUSTOMERS AND THE DOGS! TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE!

>>886718
BRILLIANT!

Also, we should teach the dogs to be afraid of/aggressive rowards black men, so we can get rid of the glarers.

>>886381
We should also buy socker boppers for the chefs to use as oven mitts.
That'll deal with their issue.

>>886381
Upon watching your ass-shaped television in your tattered office, you notice an ad for
Wrestlemania and an idea sparks in your head about how to deal with the chefs. You step into
the kitchen and soon bounce the nearest cook from the wall to the ground with an elbow to the
chin. It stops the massacre for a few blissful seconds, freeing the peaceful sounds of birds
chirping from layers and layers of massacre. But only as the staff stares right to your face do
you realize just how badly you fucked up.

>>886718
"Ah, stop, FUCK!" Their kicks and stomps don't even hurt as your cower on the floor, yet
the sound of metal banging is driving you nuts. At least you have an epiphany as ten hands
raise you towards the ceiling, that buying bulks of fried dog food would fix all your problems
while also making everyone love you. Then your head pops on the other side of the wall.

>>886993

"See that? See that, boy?" The golden retriever turns towards your hand as you crouch next to it,
pointing towards a grinning Bobo. "That, is a nigger. Go bite the nigger."

"Wut chu doin, Cross Boss?" Bobo asks, walking up to you.

"Go! Go get em!" You pat the dog in the ass and it bolts towards Bobo, but it stops and rests
over his feet as it wages the tail.

Bobo looks from the dog to you. "Y' having some nazi flashbacks or something?" He's
always smirking, the motherfucker.

"It's for those weird fucks at the entrance, they are ruining the show." You pause, then ponder.
"Give me your money, I'll invest in dog food and socker boopers."

He giggles at you. "Don't have any, boss."

"I'll ask Pedro then, I guess."

"Neither neither, boss." He shakes his head, almost mockingly.

"Awwww shit" you sigh, "I'll have to keep on fucking with the savings for the sewers!"

"That's dead too, boss." Bobo smiles widely. "Dem niggas at the entrance?" He shakes his
head, still looking at you. "Dey de ones paying the show!"

"Bullshit." You blurt out, your hands shaking. And yet, he's still smiling. You freeze. "Those
motherfuckers can't be paying the whole restaurant just to glare at people."

Bobo nods

FUCK.

>>887435
Fine, if they're paying the restaurant to glare at people, then I'll just pay them even more to make goo-goo eyes at people.
>Add interpretive dances and kids bop music to their pay. Also include a disco-rave party for their christmas bonus.

>Teach the dogs to wear novelty sunglasses and hump the niggers legs.

File: do-your-best-captain.png (49KB, 484x563px) Image search: [Google]

49KB, 484x563px

>>887435


...I see.

You know, all of these problems? I know where they come from!
First we have to replace this unstable currency! We will only be paid in WATER from now on!

So, where is The Second shift? Do we have The Second shift?

Oh well, we should talk to the gym-leader, order them to change the guy's training regime, their bodys are their temples, to much gain causes monumental loss.

Next off, hand out Snacks (in order) to listen to wailing fuck's problems, maybe get them a seperate room to not scare off other customers.

Speaking of scaring off, someone should take care of that human Trash glaring at people. If we can't consider them trash, talk to the other negros... on second thought, invocing negro-rage-magic might not be the best idea right about now.

While we are at it, the chefs might also be suffering from Snacks-withdraw. Get 'em on it next!

Lastly, I'm not certain on how we could get rid of these dogs, but we could either
A: Get a horned albino beast to scare them off. (If it can talk bonus points)
Or
B: Well... if they don't have owners... we could... you know... china 'em?

If we do all of this, the GREAT LADY will almost be back at her former glory.
If there WAS a former, and didn't just start the business.
Ah, fuck it: Make the LADY GREAT again!

Also, we don't serve nearly enough CAKE. We gotta serve more CAEK!

>mfw this quest running.

File: DO_IT.gif (878KB, 301x240px) Image search: [Google]

878KB, 301x240px

>>889280

Disregard the information, for I cannot stay any longer!
My destiny lies elsewhere.

Bless you, those who entered this quest, for you experienced one of the greatest minds of this world at work.

Now, I shall return to my ladders.

>>889280
>china 'em
FUCK NO. THOSE DOGS ARE SACRED TO US!

>>887435
So they're paying em off, eh? Perhaps a profit could be made, if only you could work out a sort of disguise system...
>>888563
And there it is!
>everyone wear novelty sunglasses, have preah hand them out at the entrance
The sunglasses should make it difficult for the negros to determine whos who, and just pay everyone

>>888563
You open a stiff, open palm in front of Bobo. It shakes as he smiles. "Let me get this shit
straight. This-this uber-clusterfuck of fuckness." You clarify, /very/ calmly. "The chimps at the
entrance are paying WHO, and are paying WHAT?" You ask, calmly. "And whyyyyy?!?!"

"Beats me, Crossy Bossy." Bobo shrugs, a satisfied smirk on his face. "The salary you
should be givin us, they give it to us! The slaves! Dey send one of their boys every day
with some bills, the man shakes everybody's hands and tell them they are doin great." Bobo
nods, his eyes closed in blissful peace. "Even the cooks, negro! It's amazing!"

"BUT WHY?!" you ask.

Bobo winks.

>>888563

Cross boss looks at (You)
"Motherfucker, they are paying ME. I can't ask
them shit like this, what's going on! Since when are the whites the ones in shackles?!"

"Crossy, who you talkin to?"

"Schizophrenia."

"Okay bossy!"

"Still-"

Cross Boss ((no longer (You) out of her own will, because fuck self-insertion) also triple
parenthesis) walks one of the golden retrievers. It's peacefully curled up over one of the tables,
between a silent couple.

"Get down there." Cross Boss says. The dog jumps from the table, making it shake and
sending a glass to shatter against the floor. Patiently, the Cross Boss takes the sunglasses
it wears everytime Pedro slips on something, and carefully puts them on the dog. They fit; the
dog barks. "Good. Now..." It runs away. "Shit, my glasses." I can't teach these guys jack-shit!

>>889280
Cross Boss smashes the phone against the helmet. It rings a few times, then a voice
comes up.

"Hello?" It's Trash.

"I need to talk to Snacks, it's important."

"Who the f- Crossy?"

"Give her the phone, I'm sinking in shit here."

A folding sound is heard. You- wait, the Cross Boss. yeah, starts tapping her feet impatiently,
then a sweet voice comes up.

"Hello?"

"Do you know what "gangbang" means?"

"E-excuse me?"

"Do you like cooks and chefs?"

The line pauses for a while. "I, um, I'm a very good cook, yes."

"Then come here." You hang up. Fuck, the Cross Boss hangs up.

>>890143
"Pedro, do we have sunglasses somewhere?"

Pedro points at the golden retriever with sunglasses. It's doing the tug of war thing with another dog, using a
hard-cooked steak as the rope.

Cross Boss turns to Pedro. "So that's fucking it'?!"

"I guess? Why do you want em for?"

"Rip off the niggers."

"Rip of the niggers that are sustaining your restaurant." Pedro rests a hand in the Boss's shoulder. He just smiles silently at it.

>>889280
"Do we have cake?" You ask the kitchen, before a whole chef falls over you.

>>889280
"Preah, we got to do something about those wailing fucks. Try to get them somewhere else,
my restaurant is no fucking graveyard."

Preah seems worried as she tilts her head, then you both turn towards one of the tables. In it, a
coughing violently against the table, his face buried in his arms.

"Snacks is coming soon, try to get them somewhere else for now." Cross Boss asks,
politely.

"But what?" Preah asks.

Will we ever find out what 'what' is?

The world may never know!

>>890960
>In it, a coughing violently against the table, his face buried in his arms.
The a in the table may be choking. Go slap him on the back a few times and massage his shoulders.