Zead: Pardon me, sirrah, but wouldst thou pray hold mine beverage for a mote?
Peasant: Aye. *holds object*
Zead: *turns into Death* OHHHHH SNAP SON! YOU JUST GOT ICED! You'd best refresh yourself before I beheads yourself!
Peasant: Aww man, these taste like dog shit! *gets on one knee, begins chugging Smirnoff Ice*
Simon: No! I'm too late!