There was an old maid from Bermuda 
               Who shot a marauding intruder. 
                    It was not her ire 
                    At his lack of attire, 
               But he reached for her jewels as he screwed her. 

There was an aesthetic young miss 
            Who thought it the apex of bliss 
                To jazz herself silly 
                With the bud of a lily, 
            Then go to the garden to piss! 

There once was a man named Houdini,
Who spilled some Gin on his weenie.
Said his date, "How uncouth!".
So he poured on some Vermouth,
And slipped the young girl a martini!

Sent by NINA

Have you heard of young Franchot Tone 
               Who felt of his own peculiar bone? 
                    It was long and quite narrow 
                    And filled full of marrow, 
               And less edible than stale corn pone. 

               There once was a writer named Twain 
               Who had a peculiar stain 
                    Surrounding the head 
                    Of his prick: it was red, 
               And was said to wash off in the rain.