Once, there was a lonely Pratt.
He sat in his kitchen, feeling empty inside.
"If only I had something to fill this cavern in the very core of my being!" he screamed, holding his finely-tuned abs
Then, as if his prayer had been heard, the fridge door swung open.
And out fell a single, frozen Hot Pocket.
The crystalline ice sparkled around the dinner pastry's buttery crust.
It was the most beautiful thing the Pratt had ever seen in the last five minutes.
"Who are you, mysterious and gorgeous visitor to my humble cook-room?"
But the Hot Pocket did not answer.
"It must be too shy to say anything," thought the Pratt, "perhaps I should let it warm up since it has just come out of the cold"
So he picked up the Hot Pocket, delicately, as if it were a kitten.
And stuffed it in the microwave.
The Hot Pocket felt warmth returning to it after a long, cold, unforgiving existence in isolation.
It made the Hot Pocket happy.
For now it would have its revenge.
It flew out of the microwave, shattering the glass door separating it from its captor.
With a powerful Hot Pocket kick, it knocked out the Pratt, who had tormented it long ago by stuffing it in the chilled hell of the freezer.
The Pratt only had one thing to say before he collapsed.
"I still have more lions."
The Hot Pocket, breathing heavily, silently rejoiced in its newfound freedom, and escaped through an open window over the kitchen sink.
And disappeared into the night.
The End