There was a young fellow named Cribbs 
            Whose cock was so big it had ribs. 
                They were inches apart, 
                And to suck, it took art, 
            While to fuck, it took forty-two trips. 

                    "My body, by my own admission,"
                            
                    I told him, "is in top condition."
                            I said with a snigger,
                            "I worship my figure."
                            
                    Then he tried to embrace my religion.
                                              

There was an old man of Stamboul
With a varicose vein in his tool.
In attempting to come
Up a little boy's bum
It burst, and he did look a fool.

When Asimov penned long ago
The Three Laws that all robots know,
Had Star Wars shown then,
The Fourth would have been:
"A robot must not steal the show." 

               There was a young laundress of Lamas 
               Who invented high amorous dramas 
                    For the spots she espied 
                    Dried and hardened inside 
               The pants of the parson's pajamas.