There was an up-and-coming modern artist Who went by the pseudonym "Arthur Fartist." He painted with flair From his derriere, 'Til critics judged his work, "not the smartest."
The police questioned an old statistician Whose department had suffered attrition. "My memo was wrecked by auto-correct: Distribution of 'Poisson' became 'Poison.'"
She came to the party joking about her Dick, And was advised it was time to change up her schtick. Her husband Richard Was becoming triggered, Hearing her tell strangers she just loved her Big Dick.
There once was a lady with a mole, And, about it, she was hard to console. Examples were proffered, Such as Cindy Crawford. "But mine is dead, & it dug such fine holes."
There once was a Shakespearean lover, Who, in darkness, crawled under cover. Much to his surprise, Having no use of eyes, He later learned 'tweren't his lover, but another.
There once was a purveyor of fine cheese who liked 'em runny and stinky as you please. Limburger and Camembert hung pungent in the air. He built a drive-thru, snarky patrons, to appease.
There once was an evangelical preacher
who made each sermon a double-feature:
first, the evils that tempt;
then, why he was exempt:
"One must know math's pitfalls to be a math teacher..."
There was an Anger Management counselor
who, truth be told, was kind of an amateur.
His schedule planner
didn't know the name "Banner."
So, for his new place, he hired a nerd.
Once upon a time, there was a wise, old Taoist priest
who got the least from the most & the most from the least.
If he offered a snack,
you'd be bursting your slacks,
but expect empty plates when he'd call for a feast.
There once was a prolific reviewer
who reviewed everything from shipyards to sewers.
With great dispassion,
he reviewed an assassin,
and wished he'd written one review fewer.