Bet they know how ta slay 'er.
<walks in leading walking corpse dressed in striped shirt with garters on sleeves>
Seein' as how's I knows a few o' the Hounds, purely by coincidence o' course, I figger'd I bring this'n here ole' thing o'er an' have it sit down and play fer a bit.
<sits thing down at player piano, sets its hands on keyboard and it begins to play "My Old Kentucky Home">
It knows a whole buncha' songs. Just whack it upside a the head t' change selections. It don't mind none. Just be sure t' keeps yer arms, legs, fingers, pretty much everythin' outta' reach o' them jaws. They's like a meat cleaver they is.
When it gets hungry, jes' throw it a hunk o' raw beef an' it'll settle down...some...
<chains walking dead critter to player piano>
Don't mess wit' them thar' chains none. They's, um, special.
Aww happy birthday tizzy. I'm sorry I missed it. I don't get online much these days.
Chute 'em, Lizbet. Chute 'em.
An Englishman? Don't they ride sidesaddle or something?
And a piana player?
What's this saloon comin to?
Nothing wrong with a little long pork.
Horror hounds, sheesh. Just keep your BBQ out of the Bent Nail. It takes forever to get the smell of barbecued noob out of the place.
Actually, that's the odor of burning copper and iron from all the blood...
Of course, the decaying sprays, rivulets, and pools do tend to add their own ambiance to our place...
If y'all'd come t' church more offen ya' yahoos might get used t' it an' even learn t' like it.
Raw, er, "beef" marinated in soy sauce. Fresh, er, "calf's" liver straight outta' the critter. Ground, er, "beef" raw and marinated in onion, garlic, and barbecue sauce...
The church has a, um, "feed" ev'ry Sunday. Y'all need t' comes by and fill up.
There'll be beer. There's always beer...
Gee, what an offer, Greg, thanks so much. Me in a church? You really want to be struck down by eternal damnation and all that.
Reg. Please say you are still here somewhere?