Today's poems [6.3.20]
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There was an old maid in Van Nuys
Who went crazy from making mud pies.
She would fill them with farts
And pickled beef-hearts,
And bake them between her fierce thighs.
An old maiden who barely did kissing,
Soon discovered what she had been missing.
When laid down on the sod,
She cried out, "Oh, God!
All these years I just used it for pissing!"
There once was a man of Belfast
Whose balls out of iron were cast.
He managed somehow
To bugger a sow,
Thus you get pig-iron, at last.
He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian.
Spurred on by a very high wager
With an envious Lieutenant Major,
Ben proceeded to fart
The complete oboe part
Of the Hayden Octet in B-Major.
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