Terrible Openhander's poetry....

Stay in yer plaice.

Ye heathen serf, nay order of the garter,

Deservest thou, ye taramasalata?

Nay, satisfy yeself, wid tatties an neeps,

An mind-numbing ale, the likes of yus keeps.

Or canna we say that to access true heaven,

Your bread can be risen, no need to be leaven.

(winner of the alternative pulitzer prize for poetry.)