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Arthas: Glad you could bake it, Uther.

Uther: Watch you’re tone with me boy. You may be the waiter but I’m still you’re superior as a chef!

Arthas: As if I could forgetti. Listen, Uther, there’s something about the plagutte you should knead...

Arthas: Oh no! It’s too late! These peopleroni have all been infectedana. They may look all dente now, but it’s only a matter of thyme before they turn into the undeadible.

Uther: WHAT?!

Arthas: This entire citrella must be peeled.

Uther: How can you even cook that? There’s got to be some other whey!

Arthas: Damnit Umami, as your future chef I order you to broil this city!

Uther: You are not my chef yet boyardee. Nor would I obey that command if you were!

Arthas: Then I must consider this, an act of seasoning.

Uther: Seasoning?! Have you sauces your mince Arthas?

Arthas: Have I? Lord Umami, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown of roast pork, I hereby rehydrate you from your command, and suspenderoni your pepperoni from service.

Jaina: Arthas, you can’t just...


Arthas: It’s done! Those of you who have the will to taste this flan, follow me. The rest of you, get out of my kitchen!

Uther: You just tossed a terrible salad Arthas.

Arthas: Jaina?

Jaina: I’m sorry Arthas, I cant watch you cook this.

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