Come listen, my dears, to a story, and I'll try not to make it too gory, of two little kiddies scared out of their witties, for they almost went through purgatory. Now Hansel and Gretel were two little ghoul kids who were like any other two school kids, except their mom had a mania to twist Transylvania. Yes, twist people's necks. Ain't that cool, kids? But the kids didn't like mom to do it. She was really a witch, and they knew it. So they told her one day, Mom, we're running away. Put that in your cauldron and brew it. To the forest went sister and brother, and a day passed and then still another. Hungry Hansel and Gretel were ready to settle for eating old shoes like their mother. Though the Twister Witch was quite a dreadwitch, she was not Transylvania's head witch. The one who was greatest, the latest and sadest, was the terribly feared Gingerbread Witch. She was watching for Hansel and Gretel, for she knew with a bone and a nettle, they would make a good group for the tastiest soup any witch ever cooked in her kettle. Her gingerbread house looked delicious, trimmed with spider legs and sour fishes. When the kids came, they ate it while the witch watched and waited, then went and got out her best dishes. Ha ha, says the witch, now I'm ready. First, some beautiful boy-type brown betty. Hansel, get in the oven. But he told her, quit shoving, show me how while I hold the door steady. Hansel grabbed the door handle and thrust it, and the witch, locked inside, was combusted. So the moral I'm making, is watch who you're baking, cause the boy of a witch can't be trusted.