Based on a favourite poem of mine, 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe; the title is inspired by a line from that poem which refers to "...the night's Plutonian shore".
***
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a piece of land purchased at the cheapest price;
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone loudly rapping, at my Tower door, just twice.
“Visitors,” Karbunkle muttered, as he built some strange device,
“Could it be those Biker Mice?”
Ah, it was such dreadful pity, that ensconced in Windy City,
Where a man without impediment might indulge his every vice.
I should be opposed in scheming by a trio always seeming
To destroy my best laid planning in a moment, in a trice,
So my plans for swift advancement must again be put on ice.
All because of Biker Mice.
So I sat within my Tower, clinging to my fragile power,
Wondering how to crush those rodents in a manner not concise.
And to still the frantic beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“Nought can stop you, Lawrence, taking Earth’s resource at any price.
Who can stop us with my brainpower and Karbunkle’s strange device?”
Quoth the Doctor, “Biker Mice.”
Presently my heart grew stronger, quailed my beating heart no longer,
Thinking that my plans were safely based on Plutark’s best advice.
Thinking how they’d soon reward me, Camembert would quite adore me,
Once Greasepit had put in action plans of cunning’s pungent spice.
But Karbunkle’s croak of warning optimism cooled like ice:
Quoth the Doctor, “Biker Mice”.
Much I marvelled at his warning, telling of a future mourning
Wondering if for schemes unbounded I was soon to pay the price.
Even now I heard a thundering, sign and sound of Greasepit’s blundering,
Felt the Tower shake and shiver, knew the future in a trice,
Thought to flee and asked Karbunkle, looking for his best advice:
Quoth the Doctor, “Biker Mice”.
Now the Tow’r began to crumble, down it fell with crash and rumble,
Bringing with it my ambitions, and the Doctor’s strange device.
Now my plans had all to dust come, midst the ruins sat I quite glum,
As I cursed and swore my vengeance, swore that they’d pay three times thrice.
Cursed them with unending hatred, hoped their fur be plagued with lice,
Cursed those wretched Biker Mice!