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: I made a bad pun to Dan on Wednesday. I mentioned the pun to Jake on Thursday. On Friday, Jake wrote a poem expounding on the bad pun. Monday's child is fair of face. Here's the poem (doggerel, Jake calls it. It is doggerel. It's a doggerel beer.):

in a very special sort
of suit the waiter served a torte
that poisoned was and so with poise
he passed it on to his employs
but later found and malice proved
the coppers followed suit and sued
and from the bistro to the court
they served a special kind of tort
and when it looked like he was beat
the waiter did retort the heat
the waiter did reheat the torte
and ate it then and there, in court.

he never broke a single plate
cussed or drank or came in late
in court he threw his only fit:
"you cannot fire me- i quit."

This site is turning into a poetry corner or something.


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