To joke, or not to joke, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler to cheekily mention
The slings and the arrows we feel are outrageous
Though laughter that burbles is surely contagious
Oppose them some do, oh those surly nay-sayers
Trample the joy of the cheeky joke-players
To cry is to weep, and to die is to sleep
And to merry-make is not a cut that’s too deep
To laugh is to dream, and to tickle the nub
Is a shield from the dour, makes cheerful the hub
Tis nothing more bleak than a life full of toil
Makes one want to shuffle off this mortal coil
For who would bear drudge if they could not release
Through simple jape settled to spoof, josh and tease?
I mean who can keep a straight face in the telling
Of “Pull at my finger… what is that you’re smelling!?”
To grunt and to sweat is to live weary life
Tis lessened when heard, “Won’t you please take my wife?”
Propriety makes us hard-hearted poltroons
When all we desire is drink-filled balloons!
So those without humour may cast pale their thoughts
Exist in the mirthless cold world they have wrought
Plod slowly to end, with no frolic to urge
Just tears upon tears, be their funereal dirge
And those who cajole, who are pithy and wry
Shall leave us in stitches, until day we too die…
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