Pry jokes

Lemme tell you a little story.

It’s night. You’re in your room, trying to sleep. But you keep hearing it—scratching. Soft at first. Like fingernails on wood. You tell yourself it’s rats, or the house settling. But it keeps going. Slow... then faster.

So finally, you get outta bed. You get on your hands and knees, put your ear to the floor. And you hear it. A voice. Whispers. Crying.

Your heart’s pounding. You grab a crowbar. You pry up the floorboards. One by one. Your sweat’s dripping into the dust. The noise gets louder.

And finally... you peel back the last plank.

And you see these eyes. Wide and terrified. And a pale little face staring up at you.

BOOOOOOO!!!!

It’s Anne Frank.

In a world of feline folly, There lived a cat with a secret, A taste for adventure and mischief, And a love for KFC's golden treat.

With eyes like emerald jewels, And fur as black as night, This feline prowled the streets, In search of a savory delight.

Oh, how it yearned for chicken, Crispy and finger-lickin' good, But the cat knew it had to be sly, To satisfy its craving like it should.

Through alleyways it stealthily tiptoed, With nimble paws and a stealthy glide, Until it stumbled upon a secret, That made its hunger amplified.

A stash of KFC's golden eggs, Hidden away from prying eyes, An accidental treasure trove, A feast fit for a feline paradise.

With each stolen egg devoured, The cat's satisfaction grew, The taste of crispy breading, And juicy chicken, it knew.

Word soon spread of this food bandit, A legend of a cat so bold, Whispers echoed through the town, Of the one who stole the KFC gold.

But the cat with the KFC get eggs, Remained a mystery to all, A phantom of the night it became, Leaving no trace, no trail to recall.

And so, it continues its nightly quest, For chicken that satisfies its soul, The cat with the KFC get eggs, Forever on the prowl, never to be controlled.

The existence of the word "priest" implies the existence of "prier" and "pri".