A little square of chocolate delight, Fudgy and gooey, a magical bite. Fresh from the oven, warm and sweet, A tiny treasure, an edible treat. Some bake them plain, some call on Mary Jane, Either way, they’ll have you calling their name It waits in the kitchen, tempting you near, Whispering softly, Just one more, my dear

I asked the librarian if the library had books on paranoia. She whispered, they're. . .

What do you call a pencil with two erasers?

He wears no skin, yet he always grins, With a purple hood and a villainous spin. He plots and schemes from his shadowy throne, Chasing a castle that’s not his own. He roasts his minions and foes with delight, His insults slap harder than his army’s might. I could write a book about what you don’t know, Is the kind of wisdom he loves to throw. His voice is a laugh, his plans are grand, Though they always seem to slip out of hand. Until we meet again, don’t be a bumbling fool, He’ll remind you himself, that’s his golden rule.

A taxidermy animal head on a wall, Or a particularly beautiful wife, A shiny gold cup for being dead good at sports, All ways to show you've succeeded at life