Warning: Contains explicit scenes of immaturity.

Scorpio Milo Picked His Nose

Once upon a summer day,

Was it March, April or May?

That I cannot honestly say,

The day Milo picked his nose.


Little Milo was bad. A sad case, alas…

…he was a prankster, a troublemaker, and a pain in the ass.

He liked to spice foods, with the hottest of pepper,

Or pour laxatives in coffee and call it the creamer.


When things go wrong, they blamed Milo first!

To them, Milo was horrid and the absolute worst.

"He stole all the toilet paper!" "He put glue in my hair!"

But Milo simply replied with the most innocent stare.


Milo the sneaky! Milo the slick!

The boy could prank the Pope and get his ass out quick.

No one could catch him, in any of his tricks.

That won't stop others for getting revenge for his shticks.


One day a servant, coming back from his class,

He needed to see Camus,

Through the Eighth House he must pass.


In the dark building, he silently walked on his toes,

There he saw Milo, picking his nose.

Fearing his life, the lad ran out fast.

He told Master Camus of the thing he had grasped.


Camus thought hard at this new found knowledge,

Of how Milo can't resist tinkering with his foliage.


"But he's my friend, and such a thing should be left unsaid."

Camus turned to his nails, yesterday, Milo painted them red.

Then the French boy began to sneer,

A thought of revenge began to appear.


Camus hurried to Milo where the Scorpio was picking about,

"I will scare him," he muttered, "He will jump high when I shout."

The Ice Saint came behind, to Milo he pounced!

"Boo!" he shouted as he made his own prank announced!


Milo screamed when Camus' hands did struck,

The two then laughed, "Okay, you got me, damn your good luck!"

But Milo stopped laughing, "Oh crap crap crap Fuck!

He pulled and pulled before realizing his poor finger was stuck.


"Liar! That can't happen!" as Camus reached over to try,

He gave it a tug, but only caused Milo to cry.

"You Ass! When you scared me, my red nail came out!

It contoured to my nostril; my nail is in the shape of the route."


Milo pouted, standing there with his finger to his head.

"I can't perform Scarlet Needle, or else I'll be dead!"


So Camus told Shura, then Saga to Mu,

To Aldebaran, to Shaka and his disciples too.


Dohko told Aiolos and Aiolos told his brother,

To Deathmask and Aphrodite who blabbed it all to the others.

But no one could help Milo in this olfactory disaster.


They tried to use water, both cold and hot,

They even tried to administer it through a blue nettle pot.

They tried to use showers and stick him in a bath,

But Milo's ability to smell was still reduced by half.


The Saints all came to me, Shion.

I then told the others to leave me and Milo alone.


"This sucks!" He cried, "Why did this happen to me!"

I used my telekinesis, "Calm down, Milo," I assured, "Let me see."

With my cosmos, the cavity widened, and his finger slipped free!


I leaned down, "Well Milo, did you learn anything from this mess?"

"I did, Pope Shion," Little Milo confessed.

"No more pranks, I trust?" I asked with a glimmer in my eye.

But the answer he gave, made me throw my hands up and sigh.


Milo left happy like a freshly unwrapped Twinkie,

The lesson he learned: Always pick your nose with your pinky.

Author's Notes: I just had the urge to write something stupid. Sorry about the weird periods, but the website kept smashing the poem into one big lump.