Once while I was walking, I stumbled upon a shoehorn. I tried to use it on my shoe, But hark-- My shoe was filled with applesauce.
So I took that shoe to my living quarter, While grave indignity I wept, For that applesauce was mine, It was raining outside, But still I grabbed a frying pan.
The burner slowly reddened, As I turned up the heat, IT left my shoe- It LEFT my shoe- It left MY shoe- It left my SHOE- And IN to the frying pan it went.
Ut, ut, Rick, thanks for the pan, For without the pan, It would not be possible; Yea I trembled as I watched it fry, The vapors filled my nasal orifices.
Oh with one quick, carefully thought-out gulp, I transfered the applesauce from the pan, TO MY UGLY, AWESOME STOMACH! It burned my throat as it slid down, but I was a new man now.