(This poem is part of a heroic crown of sonnets. For more information, see "Crown of Chaos, Crown Jewel")

I hope to end these sonnets with a smile.

To work some wonders with my wacky wit.

So that all nonbelievers are beguiled,

and see the truth of these mad rhymes I spit.

To fit a joke in meter's no mean feat.

The words and syllables must be just so.

But even if the joke falls flat, it's neat

If all else fails, I've still got wicked flow.

Now that I'm under pressure to perform,

It seems my humor process has been stopped.

That “John McClane” bit was the perfect storm

I don't imagine it will soon be topped.

A failed attempt at humor's downright vile.

If I must leave, I'd like to leave in style.