There was once a contest, open for entry
Whether you be peasant, middle class, or gentry And being quite bored And since the subject matter I adored
I decided to write limericks a-plenty
There was once a Baddie Convention
With many attendees worth mention
Like The Skeleton King
And a Cloggy Colon thing
And a worm who defied comprehension
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At the convention was one Gyrus Krinkle
Who as a villain was not but a wrinkle
He was his foes' biggest fan
And thought himself part of their clan
Which is why he was given a swirly in tinkle
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The food at the convention was rank
It was pricy, greasy, and stank
And if you had the meat
You, it would eat
Which is really quite rude, to be frank
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Most of the panels were grand
But some were in truth quite bland
Like Scrapperton's Diction
Or Krinkle's Fan Fiction
Or Valina and her Angsty Emo Band
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The Costume Contest closed the event
And I still wonder where common decency went
Triple C wore his box
Mandarin wore an outfit of socks
But Master Zan won wearing nothing but his scent
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The author of these limericks? "The Who?"
I'm a villain of great renown, 'tis true
Most call me "Deplorable"
An ignorant few "Adorable"
But for you, "William Sakkospeare" will do
To be clear, I did not win
Which I consider an egregious sin
But I was not a judge
So the decision won't budge
Meaning I'm stuck wearing this very false grin