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Shef's Pizzeria

Shef grinned happily as he painted the finishing touches on the sign for his restaurant. After many weeks of selling his prized possessions, the gourmet chef had saved up enough money to pay for an empty Chick-Fil-A in the middle of the New York City.

Shef pulled out a glass canister of mysterious purple liquid and took long swig. The short, stubby man shuddered, gasping as the liquid went down his throat, hissing like a snake. As suddenly as the side-effects had started, they stopped. Shef scratched his chef’s hat, and glared at the bottle, as if the water container was the cause of his terrible cooking skills. The orange juice would need some more refining.

Shef stood up and hung the sign outside of the restaurant. “Shef’s Pizzeria! Artisan Pizza, made by a Chef’s two hands!”

He smiled widely, his moldy yellow fangs glinting in the cool breeze. His restaurant would be a success! Shef hobbled back inside the restaurant and flicked on the lights. All around the store, bright lights began flickering to life. Shef prepared to make his first pizza of the day. He rolled out the sticky dough, spread a chunky, dark red, bloody sauce over the dough. Strange ingredients stuck out of the “tomato sauce”, including a couple of grass shavings, a twig, and a shredded street rat Shef had found sneaking around his new restaurant. Shef’s pizza was almost complete. He just had to add the last ingredient.

Shef rummaged inside of his toque and reached around for his scabbard. He pulled out the rusty sword and took a deep breath. He placed his claw-like hand over the cutting board, and with a SWISH, his hand was severed from his wrist. Shef shrieked in pain, his high-pitched voice echoing around the store and off of the buildings outside, and quickly proceeded to cut off the other hand with the sword hilt in his mouth. Almost immediately, the stubs of his new hand began growing out of his bloody wrist. With his new hands, Shef put his old hands on the pizza, and slid it into the oven. Baking it for 30 minutes on high heat, his pizza was done. Wafts of somehow delicious aromas began filling the restaurant from inside, escaping outside. Hungry customers began lining up, ready to order a pizza.

Shef grinned maliciously and served up the first pizza. The couple he had served, a man and a woman, each cut off a slice of pizza. Shef watched intensely as the woman bit into the pizza. Suddenly, the man shrieked like a child. “A hand! There is a hand in my pizza!” He flung Shef’s cooked hand onto the table, covered in tomato sauce. The woman also started screaming. “FINGERS! THERE ARE FINGERS IN MY SLICE!” She had bitten into a fingernail, and the claw-like finger clunked to the floor. Pretty soon, all of the other customers began to discover that Shef had incorporated his hands into every pizza. Shef’s restaurant was quickly closed by the authorities.


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