Today's poems [2.2.08]

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               A damsel who lives at the Springs 
               Had her maidenhead ripped into strings 
                    By a hideous Kurd, 
                    And now, she averred, 
               "When the wind blows through it, it sings." 

It was under the old apple tree 
               That she first showed it to me. 
                    It was ever so hot, 
                    It was shaped like a slot, 
               But it looked like a subway to me. 

               With a twinlke so full in her eye, 
               She craftily mangled my fly. 
                    Out popped a tool 
                    That was long as a rule 
               And she sank to her knees with a sigh. 

               She proceeded to lube up my tool 
               With lots of her natural drool. 
                    My knees gave a shake, 
                    My breath hard to make, 
               And my tool throbbed away like a fool. 

               With a magnificent shake of her head, 
               She threw me down onto the bed. 
                    The apples so round, 
                    The leaves on the ground 
               Made my tool like a sail on the Med. 

               The subway engulfed all my tool. 
               She rocked like she's riding a mule. 
                    My tool gave a jerk, 
                    Let out a hot squrt, 
               And flooded her subway with jooul. 

               As the sun sank slow in the west, 
               She rose up and off of my chest. 
                    The tool flopped out bent 
                    It was terribly spent-- 
               She absorbed all the best of the rest! 

               There was a young fellow of Perth 
               Whose balls were the finest on earth. 
                    They grew to such size 
                    That one won a prize, 
               And goodness knows what they were worth. 

There once was a man from New Boston, 
            Who bought a new sportscar--an Austin; 
                There was room for his ass, 
                And a gallon of gas, 
            And his balls hung out till he lost 'em. 

Said a meaty young woman of Croft,
  Amusing herself in the loft, 
     "A salami or wurst 
Is what I should choose first--- 
With bologna you know you've been boffed." 

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