For an isult to be appreciated it has to be pure poetry
as in Xmas Day in the Cookhouse. Im sorry for the threadcreep whoever they may be.

"You're the man that stopped bacon from shrinking,
By making the cook fry with Lux,
And you wound up the cuckoo clock backwards,
And now it goes'oo' fore it'cucks'.

So thank you, and bless you, and blow you,
You just take these curses from me,
May your wife give you nothing for dinner,
And then warm it up for your tea.

Whatever you eat, may it always repeat
Be it soup, fish, entree, or horse doovers,
May blue bottles and flies descend from the skies
And use your bald head for manoeuvres.

May the patent expire on your evening dress shoes,
May your Marcel waves all come uncurled,
May your flannel shirt shrink up the back of your neck
And expose your deceit to the world."