Today's poems [9.4.08]
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There was a young man from Liberia
Who was groping a wench from Nigeria.
He said, "Yes, my pet,
Your panties are wet."
"Sorry, sir, that's my interior."
Q. Flaccus in his third liber:
"The Romans have no wood-pulp fiber.
A crapulent quorum
Will squat in the Forum
And heave dirty stones in the Tiber."
At a four-star hotel in Medan,
Yvette dined ensconced with a man,
And horny, yet nervous,
She knew once room service
Was over, her service began.
There once was a lass from Seattle
Who had a habit of sucking off cattle,
'Till a bull from the south
Shot a load in her mouth
And made her ovaries rattle!
Part 8 of 12
His basso profundo with timbre so rare
He rendered quite often, with power to spare.
But his great work of art,
His fortissimo fart,
He saved for the Marche Militaire.
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