Today's poems [5.12.07]

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There was a young fellow named Biddle 
               Whose girl had to teach him to diddle. 
                    She grabbed hold of his bow 
                    And said, "If you want to know, 
               You can try parting my hair in the middle." 

There was a young woman of Croft
Who played with herself in a loft.
Having reasoned that candles
Could never cause scandals,
Besides which they did not go soft. 

There was a young fellow named Meek
Who invented a lingual technique,
It drove women frantic
And made them romantic,
And wore all the hair off his cheek.

Pardon My French
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The finest culture
  Comes from Frontz
And hoe-knee-swat-key
  Molly-ponce!

Sally learned
  To speak in French
She's now a dame
  And not a wench

Dick acquired
  That language fair
And now he's swayve
  And deb-an-err

Speaking French
  Will prove you're better
Show you've got a
  Rays-on-debtor

Read in French
   And sack-ray-blue!
You're sure to find
  Your tom-pair-doo

Write in French
  And you'll be famous
Just like muss-your
  Albert Camus

You can bet
  Your dairy-air
Your French will prove
  Your salve-war-fare

He who is
  A true believer
Shows his Gallic
  Joyed-a-fever

French cuisine
  Is all the rage
So drink Bored-O
  With soft from-age

Wear a little
  Black beret
And eat cross-ants
  With French calf-A

Then there's all
  That art you know
So speak bow-czar
  And art-new-foe

And what a joy
  To smoke Get-tans
While watching films
  That come from Cans

I guess it's not
  An easy job
To be a phony
  Stuck-up snob...

Such games in Frontz
  They also play
But there "c'est snob"
  To speak anglais!

Alas for a preacher named Hoke, 
            Whose shit was all stuck in his poke. 
                He farted a blast 
                That left hearers aghast, 
            But nothing emerged but some smoke. 

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