Close your eyes and imagine this;
"Frank? What happened to the last pop tart?" You yell, looking around the cabinets for the beloved pop tart.
Finally giving up, you walk back to Frank's room, hearing noises.
You open the door slowly and peek through.
A pop tart laid on his stomach, being pushed up and up, his skin and the hard, creamy lumps colliding-
-
Okay what has my life come to? A pop tart? Seriously?
