Assuredly whatsoever things are fabled to exist in deep Acheron, these all exist in this life. There is no wretched Tantalus, fearing the great rock that hangs over him in the air and frozen with vain terror. Rather, it is in this life that fear of the gods oppresses mortals without cause, and the rock they fear is any that chance may bring.
The less said about the putter the better. Here is an instrument of torture, designed by Tantalus and forged in the devil's own smithy.
Tantalus made a wild grab, but the marshmallow committed suicide, diving into the flames.
I told Tantalus to go chase a doughnut.