In the dark of night, the Beast is angry and restless; he writhes about in red faced fury. The Beast has a need, a deep want, a desire that burns bright within his belly, that he does not himself know and will not reveal to you, yet you must find it and provide remedy or you shall surely be punished. Like Nebakanezer's dreams, without any clues you must know what will please the Beast and give it swiftly; your timing must be perfect, or it shall not work. Fail at this task and you will find yourself cast into the Sea of Exhaustion of which there will be suffering beyond anything you can imagine.
And so it was at three ay-ehm, in the year of our Lord, two thousand eleven, I, CTone, was sitting in the Recliner of Squeakiness trying to please the Beast with gifts of the finest plastic binkys and soft blankets woven from the manes of unicorn foals. Finally, when the sun crested on yonder hill, the Beast found satisfaction from a magic potion made of Formula from the distant land of Enfamil; but only after the Beast's portion of the elixir was tripled did he slumber in sweet Formula induced coma. The Beast was then strapped gently into the Swing of Peace, so as to not awaken him, and then once he was temporarily bound in the Swing was there silence in the land.
I cry out now from the Sea of Exhaustion where I must perform my duties with diligence under much gnashing of teeth. Tonight I shall not fail to please the Beast.