Because bad poems and bad cakes go together like two things that go together and also rhyme.
Long like the trombone
are a giraffe's neck bones
But Phil only had one bone.
Sucks to be you, Phil.
There once was a baker called Smit
Whose spelling was never a hit
From what I have heard
He botched ev'ry word
Except one: that guy knew his...
Elsa didn't know
Until blood started flowing
What she'd created
Once in a season, very near Fall
From deep in the forest, trees shady and tall
Comes something peculiar, and so seldom seen
Like a leprechaun's gold, or a unicorn's spleen
Look quickly, my brethren, for with any luck
You'll be graced with the majesty of Weenie Buck
Thanks to Keelan M., Julia C., Jess K., Kia H., & Kristy D. for helping us channel our inner Charlie McKenzie. ("WOMAN! Whoaaaaa-MAN!")
And from my other blog, Epbot: