A lonely witch once lived on ScaryBlob Lane,
Her cauldron bubbled and boiled but good cooking was her bane.
See, the pot was too black from the tricks that she played,
And tasted of farts from the elves that she once slayed.
She had very little trouble serving such gruel,
To the monsters, goblins, trolls, and ghouls.
They'd take their rusty knives and stab at the flesh,
Of half baked vultures with curvy long necks.
Slurp the soup with eyes of newt,
Belched at the end just like brutes.
But the witch was tired of this dark company,
Always plotting and scheming about their next massacry.
She thought of being pretty and wearing white lace,
Making new and happy friends and showing of a new place.
But how could she do this,
She thought without rest.
The witch wished she new just how to be her best.
Alone, she peered in her crystal ball,
Looking for secrets very near and very far.
She happened upon a noisy and hopping fun place,
A city full of wonder, bright lights, Will and Grace.
People danced through the nights and walked through the days,
Ate fancy foods and watched fabulous plays.
Though they were busy, the fun never stopped.
They never had to cook because of chefs in black tops.
The witch gasped and gloated then smiled with reprieve.
She thought for a moment saying, "that kind of living is just what I need".
She hopped on her broom wearing mismatched socks,
To see if she could find those chefs, "they rock!"
She contacted their ruler, a woman named Jill,
Tall and lanky but approachable still.
She explained in great detail her troubles and doubts,
And of the life she so long lived without.
"We'll send you a Culinista, one of our best,
They'll make the food. You can take care of the rest."
The witch was delighted and flew home straight-aways,
To take care of odd things, loose ends, and frays.
She mopped what could be mopped and broomed all she could broom,
A garden of flowers replaced the tombs.
Her cauldron was dumped and she scrubbed down spots,
Built a stove and bought all-clad pots.
Washed her black hair and shined her black shoes,
Bleached her brown teeth and Wonderbra'd her boobs.
"No more spells", she promised. This life was new.
Plus they weren't all that magical and never did what she wanted them to do.
Invites were sent to neighbors in town,
People who once avoided her with long faces and frowns.
They all came to see, new magic and glee
And the new happy chef, she promised, with tea.
The guests were amazed!
They loved it from beginning to end.
And sang silly songs with their new dark-haired friend.
Only the Dish's Dish could've answered the witch's wish.
No black magic could've ever handled this.
Happy Halloween!
was a wall of fried little pickles, ideal for dipping.
