Remember Paul? The octopus who predicted the outcome of all matches in which Germany played in the 2010 FIFA World Cup? Well, here’s a poem I wrote back then.
Two little Germans, sitting on the wall,
One named Adolf, one named Paul.
Deep-cleansing Germany was Adolf’s call,
Paul just predicted the fortunes of a ball.
With Adolf, Germany rose to power,
Snuffing out Jews, by the hour.
With Paul, the Germans won every game,
Paul got little snacks and lots of fame.
When Adolf’s dark deeds came to a head,
The world got together and gave him hell.
For Paul, things were going really well,
Till ignoring Germany, he chose Spain instead.
Adolf decided the only decent thing to do,
Was shoot himself, and take a capsule or two.
With the Germans now ready to pluck out his eyeball,
Wonder what will happen to poor, poor Paul?