Edgar Allan Poe ate my donut! It was a pink iced donut that was sold as raspberry flavor. Edgar noted that it had more of a strawberry vibe....

Edgar always seemed to be nibbling upon my treats. And as for his pet raven... don't get me going about that cheeky thieving bird! I was midway through reheating a cheese and rhubarb pizza in the microwave when the aforementioned raven pecked open the door and grabbed a hold of my still-rotating supper. Within less than a minute that naughty bird had discarded the rhubarb all over the newly laid wooden floor, and sucked the very life out of my pizza deep into the depths of its dark, mysterious crop. Or is it gullet I'm not too well up on the anatomy of a thieving raven, if truth be told. Mr. Poe would know. He seems the type who'd be au fait with anatomy, dead or alive, fresh or decompositioning. Is decompositioning even a word? Who knows? 🧐