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Today's poems[3.5.01]

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                    There was a young man named Sweeny
                    Who spilt some gin on his weenie,
                            So just to be couth,
                            He added vermouth
                    And slipped his girl a martini.

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A horny old broad from Point Breeze Once said to her lover, "Oh please! You'd enhance my bliss If you'd play more with this And pay less attention to these."
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A girl on a southern plantation Was the product of insemination. So each fathers' day She would send a bouquet To a syringe in a far away nation.
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A crafty young bard named McMahon Whose poetry never would scan, Once said with a pause, "It's prob'ly because I am always attempting to insert as many extra syllables into the ultimate line as I possibly can."
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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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