There was a young girl of Claridge's 
            Who said, "What a strange thing marriage is, 
                When you stop to think 
                That I've poured down the sink 
            Five abortions and fifty miscarriages!" 

There was a young lady of Arden,
The tool of whose swain wouldn't harden.
Said she with a frown,
"I've been sadly let down
By the tool of a fool in a garden."

                    A crafty young bard named McMahon
                            
                    Whose poetry never would scan,
                            Once said with a pause,
                            "It's prob'ly because
                            
                    I am always attempting to insert as many extra
                            syllables into the ultimate line as I
                            possibly can."
                            

               There was a young fellow named Bream 
               Who never had dreamt a wet dream, 
                    For when lacking a whore 
                    He'd just bore out the core 
               Of an apple an fuck it through cream. 

Lewinsky and Clinton have shown
   what Kaczynski must surely have known:
   that an intern is better
   than a bomb in a letter
   given the choice to be blown.