A builder came, surveyed the land,
Proposed a deal for him to sign.
"I'll build it in a year, as planned;
T'will cost you only fifty grand."
And Kubla said, "That's fine."
No work was done for half a year,
A fact that Kubla didn't like;
He said, "You're way behind, I fear;
How come there are no workers here?"
The builder said, "A strike."
Two years, then three went by before
Poor Kubla stood inside his hall.
The den, he noticed, lacked a door,
And three rooms on the second floor
Had not been built at all.
"Good God!" he screamed,"You can't deny
That what you've built here is a mess!
"I'd like to know the reason why!"
To which the builder did reply, "Poor workmanship, I guess."
So Kubla Khan left Xanadu
Disgusted with his pleasure-dome
And now, near Highway Twenty-Two
He lives as many others do,
Inside a mobile home.
by Frank Jacobs for Mad Magazine
The Barefoot Fink
Pox upon thee little fellow
barefoot fink with stripe of yellow.
The gang you squealed on has the urge
to sing and strum your funeral dirge
In the drink you should have went
neatly cased in wet cement.
Delinquancy can be a blight
when finks like you don't do it right.
To look at you I hate to think
that I was once a barefoot fink.