Oh, What the heck! A quasi-Plagaristic Sonnet Basher.

I had a most triumphant nihilist poem,
About the world where nothing really matt'rs.
Alas the poems, they were not meant for home,
where earth and wind and fire and dogs do scatt'rs.

We go into the world and take our chances,
So Jack, relax get busy with the facts.
But life is just a set of circumstances,
Or maniacs in polyester slacks.

But sonnets stink: they reek they rot they roll -
On second thought they're really swell. Oh well!
If nothing's bad then nothing's good - how dole!
But copy if you will, the thirst wont quell.

Like Joey with boring mono beat -
That never ends until your time's complete.