In a moment of madness or inspiration (or possibly neither), I offered this poem in a LP comments thread this morning:
"Good afternoon, Milady:
Now, I don't mean to sound terse
But could you be a darling
And empty out your purse?"
"Good afternoon, my robber;
It's a pistol-packing-purse!
So, I think I'll have to shoot you - BANG!
And load you in this hearse."
Thinking about it now, another poem in a similar vein comes to mind:
Or, COME ON IN, BABY, THE AORTA IS FINE!
Over the teeth
And under the uvula;
Through gastric juices
And assorted effluvia;
Into the intestine
And out of it, too;
Via the urethra
And a kidney or two:
Only to discover
Something truly appalling:
Gall bladders are fine,
But gallstones are galling.
I've even got another poem I'm working on. Here's how it goes so far:
He's boring in bed
But he gives some REALLY FUCKING FANTASTIC
But, as Maxine McKew says to her partner, I think we'll leave it at that! Have a great weekend, people!
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
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- THE SLAMMA!
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- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
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- EXTREEEEEEEME WYNTER!
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