The Mr. Saturn
Written by Doggish Q. Scotts

Once upon a Thursday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many an idiotic forum of now forgotten lore
While I browsed then, nearly napping
Suddenly, I heard a tapping!
More like someone...someone rapping. Rapping at the flimsy door.
"Probably Jehovas," was what I muttered. "Tapping at my chamber door." Only this, and onthing more.

Then I, feeling rather cocky, noticed I was out of pocky
I saw the future might be rocky, if out of the said goods I was
Eagerly I searched my desk, vainly then I took a guess,
That if I were to find no pocky, lest I steal some from some guy,
That bad things would come and I'd be sad because a Scotty needs his pocky.
And that, well, I'd prob'ly die.

And the hollow stomach feeling grew and then my mind went reeling,
But it thrilled me--filled me with fantastic fantasies I'd never felt before
So that now to still the craving that I had, I searched, depraved,
The internet, for recipes to make my own, my own, my own,
"I'll MAKE some pocky," I declared, I'll make my own, long story short,
My kitchen ignited, I caught on fire, my mission I did then abort.

When my consciousness I did regain, and I recovered, still feeling faint,
I turned my attention to the rapping, rapping at my flimsy door.
"GO AWAY!" I then did shout. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE HERE ABOUT!"
"I GUARANTEE THAT I DON'T WANT IT!" here I opened wide the door.
...Darkness there...and nothing more.

Deep into the daylight staring, the sun, it burned my eyeballs, glaring
Doubting, hugering hungers no mortals ever dared to hunger before
But my cravings did not cease, they simply were not to be pleased
And the only word there spoken, was a quiet whispered "piez :("
This I whispered, and an echo murmered back a quiet "piez"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back to my computer turning, my hunger now within me burning,
Soon again I heard Jehovas, banging on my flimsy door