“Sid!” Arthur admonished Sid, “stop rhyming.”
“Reason?” Sid asked Arthur.
“I thought you wanted a proper objective?”
“I do, but now the readers want to know how my Limerick ends?”
“Oh, go on then, finish it.”
“Da, de, da, de, da,” daad Sid as he went over the first bit in his mind again. “Someone put her outside,
And she gently cried,
Especially when he kicked the bucket!”
“You have rhymed bucket with bucket there,” pointed out Arthur, “haven’t you got another word that rhymes with bucket?”
“Suck it, chuck it, truck it, muck it, ducat?” Then Sid shrugged, “I like bucket though, because when someone kicks the bucket it means they die, it’s funnier.”
“In a morbid kind of way I suppose.”
“OK then,” I relented, “you need to find out where Traiton is and put a stop to the giantish conspiracy that is planning to take over the humanish kingdoms.”
