Today's poems [11.1.17]
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There was a young fellow named Biddle
Whose girl had to teach him to fiddle.
She grabbed hold of his bow
And said, "If you want to know,
You can try parting my hair in the middle."
There was an old Abbot of Khief
Who thought the Inpenitent Thief
Had bollocks of brass
And an amethyst ass.
He died in this awful belief.
It was under the old apple tree
That she first showed it to me.
It was ever so hot,
It was shaped like a slot,
But it looked like a subway to me.
With a twinlke so full in her eye,
She craftily mangled my fly.
Out popped a tool
That was long as a rule
And she sank to her knees with a sigh.
She proceeded to lube up my tool
With lots of her natural drool.
My knees gave a shake,
My breath hard to make,
And my tool throbbed away like a fool.
With a magnificent shake of her head,
She threw me down onto the bed.
The apples so round,
The leaves on the ground
Made my tool like a sail on the Med.
The subway engulfed all my tool.
She rocked like she's riding a mule.
My tool gave a jerk,
Let out a hot squrt,
And flooded her subway with jooul.
As the sun sank slow in the west,
She rose up and off of my chest.
The tool flopped out bent
It was terribly spent--
She absorbed all the best of the rest!
A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
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