A studio room where yells resound
And cameras and papers are flying all around...
“Where is he? Where is he? Where’s Guarana Joe?”
“Darn it, I thought turtles were meant to be slow!”

A star-shelled turtle sat under the table
And, no, his name was not Myrtle or Mable
But Guarana Joe, a health food mascot.
“He’s under the bench!” cried the cameraman, Scott.

Fingers were poked through, grabbing his tail
And Guarana Joe bit them right through the nail.
Sick of this ploy, Joe revved up his gears,
Shot past the humans ‘n’ left them in tears.

He flew up the wall then remembered a door
And sped straight for it when he dropped to the floor.
Knocking down cameras and a bottle of beer
He was abruptly lassoed by pantyhose, sheer.

Lifted up high by a woman in red,
Guarana Joe rather wished he was dead.
“Silly little turtle,” the woman did say,
“This is your stardom and you’re running away!”

Joe kicked and fought but was dumped on a board;
Thought: Thanks a bunch, great overhead Lord,
Your moral support was undying. And then...
“Okay, any time now!” said one of the men.

Now they want him to move? Joe was annoyed.
He twiddled his claws then pulled his head insoide.
A chorus of swearing and cussing arose
As Guarana Joe stoutly refused to pose.

No sum of threats, goads or turtle-food treats
Would shift Guarana from his stubborn seat.
“That’s it!” screamed the boss, hands clenched at his head,
“Let’s dump this idea and get a Gecko instead!”

The End