A skeleton of a woman of unrecognizable age sits perched on a wooden stool, scowling. "Those wrinkles! What is holding this woman together? She has to be at least ninety," you think to yourself. Upon noticing your presence, she forces a smile, almost grimacing. She seems to have a chunk of spinach in her teeth. How long has that been there? You look down at the ground in front of you, hoping to lose her gaze, and think you notice a grey feline tail flash from behind her stool, but it quickly darts away. Being the saleswoman that she is, she notices your disinterest and busts into an original song of hers. Now that she has your attention, she begins to peddle her wares. She waves her hands in the air and a herd of people arrive almost instantaneously. They flock to her stand, intrigued. "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, it's finally arrived, the cure for anything that ills you, Yzma's Young and Beautiful! She lets out a maniacal chuckle as her "youth potions" begin to sell rapidly.
Shortly after, the crowd of retirees run off with their youth potions, you being the only person left at the stand of the terrifying woman who has introduced herself as Yzma. "What are you still doing here? You gonna buy a potion, or not? I need gold," she mutters to you. "No? Well, I have a proposition for you, then." You tremble a little as she begins to smile. "Y'know those elderly folk that ran in here today? They're regular customers. Let me let you in on a little secret. Those aren't youth potions they're buying; they're actually purchasing sewage that I bottled. Nasty, right? Well, you're probably wondering why I told you this. I've actually been needing a delivery person for weeks now. Whaddya say? You can have a quarter of the profit." You quake internally. You're extremely hesitant about accepting her offer, but now you know too much. You're as guilty as her, in your own eyes. You turn to your shoulder angel and devil.
After a few moments of discussion, Yzma gets fed up with you. You hesitantly accept her offer. You remember that you could actually use the money, you've been meaning to build yourself a new house on a hill to earn your father's love. Talk about daddy issues! "Excellent," she purrs, before handing you a contract.
"Sign your name on this line" she sings. "Avoid disaster!" Before you can let out another word, she sings, "Win Papi's love with a pile of plaster." What the heck! You didn't tell her about your deep-rooted issues with your father. "Whatever," you think to yourself as you sign the long-winded contract. "No getting out of this now, time to scam some sweet old people!"