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[nuisance]

The Anthology Holy Tango of Literature by Francis Heaney is pretty damn funny.  You can read it for free online.

http://www.yarnivore.com/francis/Holy_Tango.htm

Basically, the author has made anagrams of various poets and playwrights' names and then done parodies of their work using the anagrams as the subject matter.

To pick a short example, here's a haiku in the style of Basho:

AH, SOB
A yellow snake eats
The robin’s lone precious egg—
You motherfucker

 Bwahahaha!

Or how about this parody of "This is just to say"?

I WILL ALARM ISLAMIC OWLS
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
 
I will be alarming
the Islamic owls
that are in
the barn
 
and which
you warned me
are very jittery
and susceptible to loud noises
 
Forgive me
they see so well in the dark
so feathery
and so dedicated to Allah

[Gryff]

Haha!

[Johnny C]

BANGLES LINGER
ALLEN GINSBERG
 
I.
I saw the worst bands of my generation outselling Madness, boring ridiculous catchy,
dragging themselves through the three-chord charts each night looking for a leggy hit,
muttonheaded singers walking like the ancient Egyptians unconcerned about finding intellect in the gray matter of fans,
who radios and Walkmans and ringing-eared and high stayed up dancing in the supernatural darkness of hand-stamping clubs surfing across the heads of mosh pits contemplating grunge,
who blared their songs by Heaven 17 and saw MTV veejays staggering on camera while intoxicated,
who were expelled from the record stores for rowdy & shoplifting obscure tapes down the pockets of their pants,
who skanked all night to the English Beat as Bangles singles sold like husbands to Zsa Zsa and punks absorbed their Fugazi, listening to the crash of drums on the hideous jukebox,
who scored autographs from rockstars rockstars rockstars breathing in their blow toward talkative charm in narcissist night,
who climbed up America’s Top Forty this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghastly haze of second-rate state fair tours & shopping malls, not even one bowl of green M&M’s,
with the one hit that made them a wonder for life belching out of their cheap rented amps to hear a thousand times.
 
II.
What finks of beatbox and programming bashed open their skulls and ate up their taste and imagination?
Moloko! Soul II Soul! Filter! Underworld! Rare tracks and unobtainable b-sides! Roadies streaming out of the tour bus! Boys dubbing on mix boards! Old men signing up *NSYNC!
Moloko! Moloko! Nightmare of Moloko! Moloko the mindless! Techno Moloko! Moloko the wearer of tight sweaters!
Moloko whose drummer is pure machinery! Moloko whose songs are disco fodder! Moloko whose name is silly! Moloko whose producer is the singer’s boyfriend! Moloko who is not a doctor!
Moloko! Moloko! Robot accompanists! Batman & Robin soundtracks! skeletal remixes! bland choruses! other unpleasant things!
Moloko! Moloko! Did I mention Moloko? Moloko! Molokomolokomoloko!
They broke their backs lifting Moloko to playlists! lifting the shitty to radio which emits waves flying everywhere around us!
Lame oldies playing in a diner! They hear it all! the mild whines! the hollow yelps! They sing along! They know all the words! to China Grove! Beat It! La Isla Bonita! Down with the radio! into the trash!
 
III.
R.E.M.! I’m with you in Rockville
where they’re cooler than I am
I’m with you in Rockville
where you must sell many disks
I’m with you in Rockville
where you imitate the sound of Roger McGuinn
I’m with you in Rockville
where your condition has become famous and is reported on the radio
I’m with you in Rockville
where fifty million dollars will never return Bill Berry to his drums again from his pilgrimage to live on a farm
I’m with you in Rockville
where there are twenty-five-billion Gen-Xers still unable to forget the chorus of “Manic Monday”
I’m with you in Rockville
where we wake up horrified out of our REM sleep by our own clock radios braying wretched Steve Winwood he’s come to play indelible cliches the clock face illuminates itself fists pound snooze buttons O luckless listeners run outside O sleepy screaming fans of alt-rock the eternal war is here O victory forget your earplugs we’re free
I’m with you in Rockville
in my dreams you play “Driver 8” all evening on the radios across America instead of that Cranberries song I hear every damn night

that one's my favourite.