A musician who lives in Bangkok 
               Has fiddle strings tied to his cock. 
                    When he gets an erection, 
                    He plays a selection 
               From Johan Sebastian Bach. 

                             Ode to The Bobbits
     
   
There once was a Bobbitt named John
Who thaught he was quite the Don Juan
His wife disagreed
So the next time he wee'd
John couldn't locate his wand.

Lorena wished John could be nicer
But he wasn't much of a de-icer
If she finds a new spouse
Let us hope he's no louse
Or we might have our first serial slicer.

A surgeon was filled with great tension
Trying to sew on a thing we can't mention
He stitched and he sewed
Used all the skills that he knowed
But the wee thing won't stand at attention.

John Bobbitt was never a loner
In fact, he was known as a roamer
His wife seized his prize
And cut him to size
Now he is his own organ donor.

There once was a crime most venal
One might say 'twas inches from renal
It wasn't for sport
That she made him so short
Her intentions were nothing but penal.

The Bobbitt case sure is a dilly
Though it sounds a little bit silly
He said she's the hacker
Who lopped off his whacker
She said she was trying to Free Willy.
  

                    There once was a lass from Seattle
                            
                    Who had a habit of sucking off cattle,
                            'Till a bull from the south
                            Shot a load in her mouth
                            
                    And made her ovaries rattle!

                    There once was a lady from Salem
                            
                    Who used to take cocks and inhale 'em.
                            The fruits of these feats:
                            Pubic hairs from her teeth
                            
                    Were saved until Fall when she'd bale 'em.
                            

Van Gogh found a whore who would lay, 
               And accept a small painting as pay. 
                    "Vive l' Art!" cried Van Gogh, 
                    "But it's too fucking slow--- 
               I wish I could paint ten a day!"