Victorians believed tomatos would cause illness unless boiled to the point of collapse.

Twas the night before finals, and all through the college, The students were praying for last minute knowledge. Most were quite sleepy, but none touched their beds, While visions of essays danced in their heads. In my own apartment, I had been pacing, And dreaded exams I soon would be facing. My roommate was speechless, his nose in his books, And my comments to him drew unfriendly looks. I drained all the coffee, and brewed a new pot, No longer caring that my nerves were shot. I stared at my notes, but my thoughts were muddy, My eyes went a blur, I just couldn't study. "Some pizza might help," I said with a shiver, But each place I called refused to deliver. I'd nearly concluded that life was too cruel, With futures depending on grades had in school. When all of a sudden, our door opened wide, And Patron Saint Put-It-Off ambled inside. Her spirit was careless, her manner was mellow, She wore a white toga, she started to bellow: "What kind of student would make such a fuss, To toss back at teachers what they tossed at us?" "On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On last year's exams! On Wingit and Slingit, and last minute crams!" Her message delivered, she vanished from sight, But we heard her laughing outside in the night. "Your teachers have pegged you, so just do your best. Happy finals to all, and to all, a good test!"