Bad Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Insult.

I wrote this at work today. It makes me laugh.

Paging Mr. Benchley or Whither, Fred?

“Fred,” she said
(she called him Fred),
“I think I should be better dead.

For life is music lacking beats….
Fame is flitting, fleeting…brief….
People dirty, stinking cheats
& time is but a stupid thief.

Whence that joy we find in youth?
Why are bastards so uncouth?
Where can one find strength to woo…
Let alone a lazy screw?”

“Oh, shut up, Mrs. Parker, do.”