"At a seance," said a young man named Post, 
            "I was being sucked off by a ghost; 
                Someone switched on the lights 
                And there in guaze tights, 
            On his knees, was Tobias mine host."

There was a young barmaid from Yale, 
               On whose bust was written the prices of ale; 
                    And on her behind 
                    For the sake of the blind 
               Was exactly the same, but in braille. 

            Have you heard of the Widow O'Riley 
            Who esteemed her late husband so highly 
                That in spite of the scandal, 
                Her umbrella handle 
            Was made of his membrum virile. 

Goodbye

Goodbye, you see its time for me to die
It’s really been fun living in hell
And I’m sure it’s beginning to tell;
People are already saying God bless,
Its time this weary head was put to rest.

What is as versatile as a University?
Where the social life is a necessity
And the girls are all after the looks
Rather than what you can do with the books
But does the intention ever justify the end.

Still there are good things with life
Shame they are all double edged knifes
For the weapon is not fit as a sword,
For all we do with vast sums, is hoard
Money it seems will drive us to death.

But what are our best days I am told
It is question that is not quite so bold
For it is something that we all hold the key
Before that is when we cease to see
School and childhood is the answer.

We choose to forget those days
As it was all just a dizzy haze
It is childish and stupid we are told
But it’s the most valuable that we hold
Reminding ourselves of what was in front.

People you see, always see behind
From figures to stats which seem to bind.
Important we feel they may be
But it’s more relaxing just to sip tea
And try to grasp what our future holds.

Goodbye, you see its time for me to die
For what I’ve said could all be a lie
But if that was true then why do I feel dread
As I near my final challenge in facing death
Does the intention ever justify the end.

Sent by Justin Parker

A habit uncouth and unsav'ry, 
               Kept the Bishop of Essex in slav'ry, 
                    Midst shrieks, hoots, and howls, 
                    He'd bugger large owls, 
               Which he kept in an underground av'ry.