(Montanaface is dining at a restaurant called Chicken Cult, and a server approaches him) SERVER: Hi! Thanks for visiting our family restaurant! The chicken is good and right. I'm Kaitlyn! Can I get you anything? Some sauce, maybe? MONTANAFACE: I'm fine, thanks. SERVER: My pleasure! The chicken is good and right...Say, how'd you like to do something worthwhile with your life? MONTANAFACE: I've already got a menial, low-paying job, thanks. SERVER: Ha-ha, my pleasure! But I'm talking about the ultimate commitment, sir. See, when the Chicken Lord returns from his celestial throne amid the Lambda Centauri Nebula to harvest the righteous during The Chickening, we will all be escorted into his Chickenly Pleasure Sphere on wings of pure sauce to the Altar of the Divine Chicken Spectre, whose ancient knowledge is as deep and vast as the very River of Sauce itself and whose painless eternal embrace will usher in a golden age of endless love for everyone! 'Cept queers, of course. The chicken is good and right! Now. How 'bout some sauce for that sandwich. You won't even taste the secret ingredient...it's cyanide! MONTANAFACE: ...I'll think about it...Meantime, you seem like a 'low standards' kinda gal, what's say we head back to my place. SERVER: I'm saving myself for the Chicken Lord, thank you. MONTANAFACE: Why is every girl I meet 'saving herself for the Chicken Lord'? Am I that revolting? Couldn't we just talk a little before you decide? I really am a great guy. C'mon, Kaitlyn. Whatd'ya say. (She sits opposite him, and becomes reflexively fixed in a pose of utter revulsion as he looks on, bemused)