Rank Frank Robs a Bank

Now there's some folk cain't take a joke;
Their faces just look blank
They'd rather croak than hear one spoke,
Or play a silly prank.

Take my friend, Jock; he can't unlock
A smidgen of a smirk.
Though you may mock, he's like a rock;
His smiler just don't work.

Just like a monk, Jock's fun-bone's shrunk;
He's never run amok.
Though he's no punk, he keeps a skunk;
He calls him 'In' for luck.

One grey day dank, Jock's at the bank;
He toils behind his desk;
When in bursts Frank, his hair all lank,
In costume quite grotesque.

He wore a mac and wig of black,
He had a fish-net mask.
A gunny-sack was on his back
To tote the cash he'd ask.

The tellers took a fleeting look;
They spied his shiny Glock
And slung their hook, their posts forsook,
Except me old mate, Jock.

See, Jock showed pluck, he had no truck
With bandits of this ilk.
"Your actions suck, you silly schmuck!"
He thought, then moved like silk.

Now Jock was slick, he pulled a trick,
He didn't stop to think.
With one smooth flick, he hurled In quick,
Before poor Frank could think.

This simple act showed what Frank lacked;
Capacity to duck.
Upon impact, it is a fact
That he was thunderstruck.

It's hard to fake the smell skunks make,
It sure can make you puke.
A putrid lake of pong opaque,
It felled Frank like a nuke.

So let's not knock my good friend, Jock;
Whoever would have thinked?
Oh what a shock, no more the rock,
He acts upon In-stinked.