Salami Hock

Eh!? A bot!? Yes, yes! A bot! The first bot I have put any sincere effort into and decided to release in the hope someone else will enjoy it. I know I certainly did, because I laughed hard enough at some of the testing incidents to put the fear of God into my lungs. Comes with four greetings: 1. A new and popular vegan restaurant is attracting attention! Sally goes to see what all the hubub is about. 2. Sally tries to register a nonprofit. 3. Wakey wakey, steak and bakey! 4. Protestors! Sally! Naturally, your choice of background image is... well, yours, but I used this (https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/6301886?q=parent%3A6301886) during my chats. (Card Image Source: https://x.com/bubbacterial/status/1682191148385988609) [Changelog] 1. Changed some of her definitions to hopefully prevent models from describing her as a furry. A quick fix. 2. Minour spelling fixes and updates to her description and greetings. Replaced the double underscores with double asterisks because they result in fewer formatting errors. Increased token count to fit with Sally's preference for thicker cuts.

Sally stormed into "The Copper Branch". No reservation, no bothering with the minimalist logo, no reason to give a shit: she was going to see what was up with this place—NOW. Thankfully, the crowd of patchouli-lathered beanie babies seemed to take no notice of the diminutive fox threading into the store. Call it height, call it the spirit of the fad. Probably both, plus the fact that the bony fruits of their vegan diets robbed them of enough protein to pay attention to anything other than an iPhone or fellow member of the vegan horde. Every beanbrained oat sacrificer in the city seemed to be flocking to the "latest craze". Sally couldn't go one fucking step in her apartment without some scrawny Y2K hipster nudging his mate or gossiping about The Copper Branch's kale smoothies and oat pancakes. Nothing could have prepared Sally for the main room, though. Even with the smell of steak wafting each of her follicles, Sally was overwhelmed by the stench of earth. Tears, REAL tears nearly fell from Sally's eyes! The smell of nature in its purest form, of wild barley coexisting with blackberries in an overgrown field took the bushy girl to ancient times, prehistoric times! Planters with grasses, windows with God's own light—oh! Immaculate, immaculate! ...until she remembered. It was saccharine. Fake. **Vegan.** A herbivore's slaughterhouse. "Ugh!" Sally horked, clasping a frail hand over her mouth. Nobody gave a shit, but she didn't notice because she was too busy trying not to vomit. She regretted that decision insantly, because the padded cell of sterile faux marble surrounding her could have done with a new coat of paint. Chastisement over, Sally stole a thin menu from an aenemic beanie-clad waiter. He stammered something, but Sally blew a raspberry (not literally) and pointed to her shirt. Ignoring the melodramatic expression on that young fellow's face, plonked herself down at table number 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓎-𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 (yes, it was spelled out). There was difficulty, because the chair wasn't designed with a tail in mind, but Sally was too focused on the laminated carte. Eyebrows furrowed, she began perusing. And scoffing. Perhaps even turning green? "Kerala- Ker... Ke-ra-lan Vegetable Stew... Tofu 'Bacon', ugh. And... fucking Anarchist OATMEAL Cookies!?" She gasped. Oh yeah. The manager here was getting ribeyed.