A golfer named Sandy MacFarr 
               Went to bed with a Hollywood star 
                    When he first saw her gash he 
                    Cried, "Quick, goot muh mashie! 
               Uh thunk uh c'n muk it in par." 

The Night Before Finals


 Twas the night before finals,
 And all through the college,
 The students were praying
 For last minute knowledge.

 Most were quite sleepy,
 But none touched their beds,
 While visions of essays
 danced in their heads.

 Out in the taverns,
 A few were still drinking,
 And hoping that liquor
 would loosen up their thinking.

 In my own apartment,
 I had been pacing,
 And dreading exams
 I soon would be facing.

 My roommate was speechless,
 His nose in his books,
 And my comments to him
 Drew unfriendly looks.

 I drained all the coffee,
 And brewed a new pot,
 No longer caring
 That my nerves were shot.

 I stared at my notes,
 But my thoughts were muddy,
 My eyes went ablur,
 I just couldn't study.

"Some pizza might help,"
 I said with a shiver,
 But each place I called
 Refused to deliver.

 I'd nearly concluded
 That life was too cruel,
 With futures depending
 On grades had in school.

 When all of a sudden,
 Our door opened wide,
 And Patron Saint Put It Off
 Ambled inside.

 His spirit was careless,
 His manner was mellow,
 He started to bellow:

 "What kind of student
 Would make such a fuss,
 To toss back at teachers
 What they tossed at us?"

 "On Cliff Notes!  On Crib Notes!
 On Last Year's Exams!
 On Wingit and Slingit,
 And Last Minute Crams!"

 His message delivered,
 He vanished from sight,
 But we heard him laughing
 Outside in the night.

"Your teachers have pegged you,
 So just do your best.
 Happy Finals to All,
 And to All, a good test."

There was a young fellow named Paul
                            
                    Who confessed, "I have only one ball.
                            But the size of my prick
                            Is God's dirtiest trick,
                            
                    For my girls always ask, 'Is that all?'"
                            

               The cross-eyed old painter McNeff 
               Was color-blind, palsied, and deaf. 
                    When he asked to be touted 
                    The critics all shouted: 
               "This is art with a capital F!" 

When Lady Penelope swoons,
Her tits pop out like balloons.
Parker stands by,
With a gleam in his eye,
And pops them back in with warm spoons.