It was a dark and stormy night.

I went to pee and lights went out.

I struggled in there, and dripped about,

But hardly managed, and was all right

And didn't need that stinking light!


Sent by Ed

                    A crafty young bard named McMahon
                            
                    Whose poetry never would scan,
                            Once said with a pause,
                            "It's prob'ly because
                            
                    I am always attempting to insert as many extra
                            syllables into the ultimate line as I
                            possibly can."
                            

A bather whose clothing was strewed
By breezes that left her quite nude,
Saw a man come along,
And, unless I am wrong,
You expected this line to be lewd.

                                        So here was this fellow from Strensall, 
                                        Whose pecker was shaped like a pencil, 
                                                      Anemic, 'tis true, 
                                                      But an interesting screw, 
                                        Inasmuch as the tip is prehensile. 

               There was an old woman of Ghent 
               She swore that her cunt had no scent. 
                    She got fucked so often 
                    At last she got rotten, 
               And didn't she stink when she spent.