A Nasty Supper


An invitation to dine with Mr S.K.

They said not to go, but I went anyway.

We sat down for supper, a soiree for two

How did I know we were going to eat Hugh?!


The starter was liver and eyeballs on toast.

He said, 'Don't eat too much now, save room for the Roast.'

The meatloaf was feet-loaf, the pancakes were skin,

The blood sauce exquisite with fingers dipped in.

The leg was delicious and almost like pork,

Garnished with ten toes to spear with a fork.


I felt rather full and very well fed

'Will there be afters?' I greedily said.

My host said 'It's special, a frozen dessert

Climb into this freezer, it won't really hurt.'

'Hmm, no thanks,' I said. 'I'll give pudding a miss,

I'll finish my ear and be off after this.' 


Too late came my plea, too feeble my cry,

Destined to end in a sugary pie.

Oh, Mr S.K. - why did you kill me?

It's not nice to eat guests when they come round for tea.


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