A child stumbled across a delicious-looking brown slice. Licking his lips, he reaches out for the slice, only to be hindered by a ghost.

"I told you once, I told you twice,
Do not eat that Marmite Slice"

The boy shrugged. A ghost who falsified the number of warnings he had given with such brazen indifference to the intelligence of his audience was hardly to be trusted. He picked up the tasty brown slice and devoured it greedily. The ghost seemed unimpressed.

"I told you once, I told you twice,
I wiped my bum on that Marmite Slice"

The child, noting that the number of warnings now tallied with reality, saw that he had misunderstood - the first rhyme was, in fact, a prophecy: and what he had just eaten was not Marmite Slice at all, but an ethereal stripe of ghoul turd.

"Wait a minute," the child said. "Why did you call it a Marmite Slice, if it was ghost shit? And since when did ghosts expel corporeal waste? And who calls Marmite on toast a Marmite Slice? What the fuck is this, ghost?"

The ghost shrugged. "You ask a lot of questions for a boy with shit in his mouth."