Shun it, for it is frumious, and is unlikely to accept a Cheque to leave you alone.

I'm a pair that dice players dread, Two circles of black, a losing spread. Though no reptile, my name implies a hiss, What am I, often met with a dismiss?

I make things hot, but have no flame, I slow you down, though I play no game. Without me, you'd slip and fall from grace, what am I?

Oui oui what a pleasant treat! Butter me up or fill me with meat. I'm flaky and feel lighter than air Perfect for breakfast with a foreign flair

I travel in circles like a disk. A clumsy cook may curse me as a risk, For when I'm missing, kitchen drawers they'll frisk. Yet once found, I work swift and brisk, Making things thick and creamy as a bisque. What am I?