Two Parisian mime artists were they,

They mimed on the street every day,

Yet hard as they tried, great effort applied,

They found that their act didn’t pay.


And so it was that they thought,

‘We’re sick of working for naught,

We need something new, so the punters do queue,

Then we’ll not be quite so distraught.’


That’s when they decided to grow,

Turn their act into a ‘variety show,’

So they phoned agencies; even begged on their knees,

To have them send round Marilyn Munro.


Yet the boys were in for a shock,

The girl they sent round was of stock,

More suited to burlesque, preferably wearing a vest,

Neck downwards the stumbling block.


Her face they decided was fine,

In truth it suited their mime,

Yet from the neck down, they had cause to frown,

Eric said, “This one’s yours, chum, not mine!”


Editorial Note: I had great trouble with the last line of the last verse.  I therefore issue my unreserved apologies to any larger ladies who might be reading this thinking what a sexist pig I am. Please remember that this is just satire and I think all ladies large or small are wonderful beings!


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