Michael and Walter come up with this sort of thing on a regular basis, but I am gobsmackingly impressed by the cleverness of the recent New Yorker poem by David Musgrave quoted today in Aditya Chakrabortty's Guardian column.
Title: "On the inevitable decline into mediocrity of the popular musician who attains a comfortable middle age"
Text (complete): "Oh Sting, where is thy death?"
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