Today's poems [10.5.17]
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There was a young fellow named Bowen
Whose pecker kept growin' and growin'.
It grew so tremendous,
So long and so pendulous,
'Twas no good for fuckin'---just showin'.
A certain professor named Yarrow
Had trouble seducing a sparrow.
When he'd given up hopin'
He pried her jaws open,
And filled up her bill with his marrow.
There once was a man from Madras
With testicles made of spun glass
When he rubbed them together
They played "Stormy Weather"
And lightning shot out of his ass
Sent by karen
A lady who lives in Madras
Has a truly magnificent ass.
It is not round and pink,
As you probably think,
But is grey, has long ears, and eats grass.
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."
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