You're right. That's probably not my pup. Oh, Wobble Bell! If only I knew where he went! He probably felt that I took him for granted and left me to find some other chef to inspire! And now, they are making wondrous dishes together and traveling the world. And let's be honest. I was taking him for granted. I rarely fed even him. And when he wanted attention I'd just push him aside and focus on my culinary arts. But now he's moved on, and my fate is sealed. Sure, I'll cook, at first out of habit. But eventually I'll become a heartless automaton, marrying the first man that shows interest and I'll cook. People will come for miles to try my recipes, I'll be famous, and the world will become reliant on my food. Then Wobble Bell and I will meet at random and it will be awkward. I'll bury my feelings until one day, I crack. And that will be it. I'll up cooking and the world will have nothing to eat, and every living thing will starve and die out. The land will grow cold and life as we know it will cease. Oh Wobble Bell, please come back!
— Chef Girl, Risky's Revenge (She says this if you do not give her dog back to her).
''No permit for me? Fine. Just because I scrimped and saved for years in order to pay for culinary school after being rejected from every cooking college, fast food restaurant, and greasy spoon this side of Sequin Land, why not withhold it? Forget that I had to travel to lands unknown, trading travel fare for an active job cracking oversized plastic walnuts in some smelly squirrel costume on stage in front of a bunch of snobby dinner theater patrons... all that I could find a teacher who would allow me to enroll despite my bad habit of eating the ingredients before the lesson, even when the ingredients were priceless eggs of endangered animals. Besides, how was I supposed to know the difference between a culinary school and a nature preserve anyway, unless somebody teaches me, which was, of course, the theme of my entire thesis! And then no one understood. Not even my culinary instructors, who always wore gorilla suits with no discernible zippers, swinging from their tires and throwing filth. But somehow, between the cradling and hair-grooming sessions, those culinary masters who might just as well have been apes... taught me that the true art of cooking is experienced by going to the store and buying stuff that already exists, such as frozen pizzas and fish sticks which come in colorful boxes with awesome artwork on them! So sure, DENY ME that HEALTH PERMIT and shut me down. Obviously I don't deserve to work hard and serve others in the noble profession of food prep.
— Chef Girl, Half-Genie Hero (She goes on this rant if you do not give her the health permit).