There was a depraved leprechaun
Who had a small part in some porn.
The director said: “Shoot!”
So he took off his suit,
And hung it upon a buck’s horn.
I had a nightmare about mobsters.
They had whiskers and claws – they were lobsters.
I was tied to a chair, and their pincers,
They pinched, and they laughed at my winces.
And they said in their strange lobster voices:
“Be a man – you have plenty of choices.
Don’t be weak – this is pretty mild torture.
Just remember what Peterson taught ya:
Life is hard, but be brave as you suffer;
You’ll emerge quite considerably tougher.”
I awoke in my bed safe and sound,
And no lobsters were there to be found.
It was like I’d escaped from the tomb.
I proceeded to clean up my room.
Slowly but surely I’m losing my pieces,
As each faulty organ, its usefulness ceases.
My gall bladder long ago died.
My prostate by laser’s been fried.
My appendix is next says the doc.
After that? Well it could be my…….nose,
But as each organ goes, my collection increases,
Preserved in glass jars up on my mantelpieces.
The fit sun-bronzed Aussie is dyin’.
If I denied that I’d be lyin’.
Sure he’s gone to the pack,
But meanwhile way outback,
The kangaroos are pumpin’ iron.