There are Dark Arts and Soul Stealers and then there is the Cthulhu Mythos.
This was the result of a quiet read on a dark and stormy night – – –
There was once a magickal caster,
Who learned his art faster and faster.
But what does it mean
That he’s not been seen
Since he uttered the name of Hast–urk!!!
Having fun in a derogatory way and getting stuck with “ace” words!
When no one appreciates Mace
He suddenly loses his grace
With bat and with ball
He’s off down the hall
And storms off right outa that place
But what this unobservent Mace
Has failed to observe is that space
Is timeless but ends
In relative bends
And so he falls flat on his face!
The thought of strict metre and rhyme
Is good in its place and its time
But what makes me warm
Is lots of free form
In verses and ladies sublime.
Oops, I just had a kitten on keys
She messed up while scratching for fleas
And stuffed up my lim
You must think me dim
And the damn feline’s just scratched my knee!
My throat has become red and sore
The prognosis for life is now poor
The wild coughing fits
Just rip it to bits
And sleep I’ll foreswear evermore!
For guarding the harem use Eunuchs
They work best if left with their pricks
So a slide down two planks
Then they only fire blanks
Their bollocks are squashed ‘tween two bricks
I see by your look, you’re distraught
This tale a new question has brought
“I don’t want to be curt
But doesn’t it hurt?”
“It wont ‘less your fingers get caught!”
(old prose joke, retold)