Not politically correct (the rubric subtly makes it clear that it's not an issue, methinks)... but this is very closely based on a true story about someone I used to know.
My sister made a Christmas cake
and, just about to marzipan it,
her schizophrenic boyfriend came
(nice lad, though on another planet!
He'd taken drugs which screwed his brain
at uni, out in Arkansas);
our parents desperately hoped
he wouldn't be their son-in-law.
My sister let him ice the cake,
which looked a sorry mess to me.
"A work of art," he proudly said,
"let's have some with a cup of tea."
At this point Dad came home. He'd missed
the bike outside (a vital clue):
"Will we have Nutty Fruitcake here
tonight?" he asked. Mum sighed, "We do."
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