Today's poems [1.22.13]
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There was a young fellow from Wark,
Who, when he screws, has to bark.
His wife is a bitch,
With a terrible itch,
So the town never sleeps after dark.
There was a young fellow of Strensall,
Whose prick was as sharp as a pencil.
On the night of his wedding,
It went through the bedding,
And shattered the chamber utensil.
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 a young lady of Michigan,
Who said, "Damn it! I've got the itch again."
Said her mother, "That's strange,
I'm surprised it ain't mange,
If you've slept with that son-of-a-bitch again."
There was a young man of Bombay,
Who fashioned a c--t out of clay.
But the heat of his prick,
Turned it into a brick,
And chafed all his foreskin away.
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