Dennis was eager to approach once his bowl was filled with spaghetti. Since all the boring stuff was likely taken care of by the two official-looking people before him, now was definitely the time to declare himself Supreme Ruler of a large city and get himself that party bus. But what he saw was not the bland, unintrusive governing document he expected. In fact, once he parsed the ancient English in front of him, his surprise and horror had caused him to inadvertantly spit sauce and noodles on himself and the edges of the paper.

"WHAT THE SHIT!? No gentleman's clubs!? Curfew!? [i]Mandatory clothing!?[/i] This is not a nation! This is a prison with poorly-made walls!" His skull face remained still, except for the slight movements of his jaw. From the tongues he was growling in, he must have been frowning. His voice was much different when he spoke again, "WHO WROTE THIS UTTER SMUT!?"