There was a young man named Lanny
The size of whose prick was uncanny.
His wife, the poor dear,
Took it in her ear
And it came out the hole in her fanny. 

An ode to the hole
That never heals.
The more you touch it
The better it feels.
You can rub it
And scrub it
And brush it like hell,
But you will never get rid
Of that fucking fish smell.

(Author Unknown)

My face in the mirror
                isn't wrinkled or drawn;
        My house isn't dirty,
                the cobwebs are gone.
        My garden looks lovely,
                and so does my lawn;
        I think I might never
                put my glasses back on!

My face in the mirror
                isn't wrinkled or drawn;
        My house isn't dirty,
                the cobwebs are gone.
        My garden looks lovely,
                and so does my lawn;
        I think I might never
                put my glasses back on!

A young trapeze artist named Bract,
Is faced by a very sad fact.
Imagine his pain,
When again and again,
He catches his wife in the act.