Today's poems [4.28.10]
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In a conference, lonely Fred posted
His plea for a friendly young co-ed
The response was frenetic
From gals energetic
And he died when his modem exploded
Everything is gone;
Your life's work has been destroyed.
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There was a young girl named Maxine
Whose vagina was wondrously clean:
With her uterus packed
She kept safe from attack
With a dill pickle, papulous, green.
Part 12 of 12
His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
Where they buried the rest of our farter,
With a gravestone of turds
Inscribed with the words:
"To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."
There were three ladies of Huxham,
And whenever we meets 'em we fucks 'em,
And when that game grows stale
We sits on a rail,
And pulls out our pricks and they sucks 'em.
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