Old Man:
Tan Ban Leong has a crooked knee,
He waddles up Penang hill with glee,
Chasing old aunties minus his lao ee,
Aunty said, “Watch out, there’s a bee!”
ChatGPT:
Oh, Tan Ban Leong, with a knee so bent,
Up Penang Hill, with joy he went.
Chasing aunties, free and spry,
Till one said, “Look down, see the sky!”
Old Man:
Now his crooked knee needs replacement,
Wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital garment,
Minus undies, his member he wants to augment,
His nurse, a sweet little thing, won’t comment.
ChatGPT:
Now in a gown, so thin, so light,
Shivering slightly, legs spread tight.
No undies there, no modest grace,
Dreaming of upgrades in that sterile place.
Old Man:
His knee cap or ball joint soon fixed in surgery,
The doctor’s fees, so high it’s daylight robbery,
It matters not, he’s not worried, not his artery,
His friends, palms together, praying for his recovery.
ChatGPT:
The surgeon’s knife, so sharp, so keen,
Fixing joints like a well-oiled machine.
Fees so high, they sting like a thorn,
Yet he grins—his wallet reborn.
Friends in prayer, hands clasped tight,
Wishing him well through day and night.
Soon he’ll rise, new knee, new stance,
Back to the hill for another dance!
Old Man:
Tan Ban Leong, post-op still the champion,
The sweet little thing with looks European,
She wipes his body and limbs but not his pride
Hands him her towel, saying “I’m not your bride!”
ChatGPT:
Oh, Tan Ban Leong, still standing tall,
Fresh from surgery, yet feeling no fall.
A nurse so fair, with hands so light,
Wipes him down—but not his might.
She dabs his brow, his legs, his chest,
Skipping the part he puffs with zest.
With a smirk, she steps aside,
Tosses the towel—“I’m not your bride!”
Yet in his heart, he winks, he grins,
Even with scars, the game begins.
New knee, old charm, still full of glee,
Tan Ban Leong—forever free!
Old Man:
He’s up early, tummy empty in the morn’
His breakfast, a piece of bread and no corn,
With a glint in his eye, drinking his milo,
Come, sweet little thing, time for his physio.
Oh, the physio, so sweet and so pretty,
Up and down she moves, her routine to a T,
She smiles and winks, saying “don’t take photos”,
In a mini skirt, she bends to touch her toes.
ChatGPT:
Tan Ban Leong, with hunger suppressed,
Bread in his belly, Milo at rest.
Yet more than the meal, his spirit is high,
For physio calls, with a wink in his eye.
Oh, the physio, graceful and neat,
Moves like a dancer, light on her feet.
Up and down, her rhythm so fine,
He follows along—but not just to align!
She bends, she stretches, he watches in bliss,
Each careful motion, nothing amiss.
“No photos, old man!” she playfully chides,
Yet he grins wide—his knee may heal, but not his pride!
Urghhlings 