Sir Loin hadn't the slightest clue what he'd done wrong. He was sitting in the sunshine in the park spending quality time with his new kitten when a half-dozen or so police bore down on him and took him in to custody. Now he was locked up in the Hague on charges of international war crimes. He was fearful for his life. "Surely the guillotine isn't still in use?", he thought to himself aloud.
Another inmate heard him and offered, "I understand you can get out if you manage to use the following five words in poetry or prose:
best of luck to 'ye."