People
Said a ball to the Prince Baudelaire,
‘This game’s fun, but a little unfair,
For whilst thou, Prince, alone,
Are just heir to the throne,
Alas, I am just thrown to the air!’
A hairdresser working in Birmingham,
Who’s used by gay actors for permingham,
Both washes and blows
Their pubes before shows,
For she knows there’s no danger of firmingham.
To her groundsman complained Lady Bliss,
‘I suspect that there’s something amiss.
These drooping hydrangeas
Were praised once by strangers.
Carruthers, I know where you piss!’
An ambitious young robber named Blue
Stole a Concorde, but hadn’t a clue,
So he went superfrantic
Above the Atlantic
And pierced the cruel sea at Mach 2.
Once a thirty-foot Amazon boa
Surprised a young chicle tree groa.
He got stuck to his tree,
So could only cry, “Eeeee!”
And now the young groa’s no moa.
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When the bark of the Amazonian chicle tree is cut, sticky white sap oozes out. It was once used for making chewing gum, which is still called chicle in South America.
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A dastardly lover called Boeing
Flew in and took off without slowing.
His dissatisfied mate
Gasped, ‘I wish you would wait
To stop coming before you start going.’
Jan and Johnny, two lovers with braces,
Now kissed on innocuous places,
For both sought relief
From the mouth-mangling grief
They had suffered when joining their faces.
The sad death of the wife of poor Bract
On trapeze was due just to one fact:
He could take no more pain,
For again and again
He would catch the big girl in the act.
A sewerage-farm workman named Byrd
Was put out by events that occurred,
For he never did choose
To be sucked down by ooze,
Nor remain so interred so in turd.
A snooty young man of Calcutta
Craved oysters with lemon and butter.
He’d eat all of those
Just as much as he chose
When they chanced to be lying in his gutter.
That snooty young man of Calcutta
Developed a sus-sus-sus stutter.
Both Christian and proud,
He spat out aloud
All the psalms in a seven-year splutter.
Like the ladies of Classical Crete,
Gorgeous Grete wasn’t really discreet.
With her blouses unclosed,
She quite brashly exposed
The bad driving of guys on her street.
Mary Connor, that big prima donna,
Stopped singing and said, ‘I’m not gonna!’
So the quick-thinking Gail
Stamped on Puss’s black tail,
And he yowled with more honour than Connor.
She was low on white sugar, John’s Dot,
So she popped round to Randy La Motte.
That night, John observed
Her sweet smile as she served
Him his coffee, which sadly was not.
There was a cute girl from Dubai
Who was naughty, though really quite shy.
Not a man the tease met
Saw her – Don’t be upset,
But they’ve censored this. Don’t ask me why.
A sexy young widow named Fay
Entertained an old man the whole day.
This was truly quite low,
For the fool did not know
She’d become a young widow that way.
A French painter had felt it not fitting,
The place where that woman was knitting,
So he brought her to tears
When he cried, ‘It appears
On my just-painted bench you are sitting!’
A once-laid once-lady once found
Herself getting suspiciously round.
Feeling more than just miffed
By her error, she sniffed,
‘I was silly to charge just a pound.’
Tarzan roared as he soared and swung free
After dumping cross Jane in the tree,
But the hollering fellow
Had reason to bellow:
He desperately needed to pee.
‘I’ll be rich,’ Van Dyke screamed to the frogs,
‘There’s treasure’ (beep-beep) ‘in these bogs!’
Croaked one, ‘Your detector
Would beep in each sector.
It’s sensing the nails in your clogs.’
Fussy gourmet, Sir Fauntleroy Fry,
Had ignored the soup spilled on his tie,
But observed with a frown
When it kept running down,
‘My dear boy, there’s a soup in my fly!’
There was once a young scientist named Glass
Who encased both his balls in bright brass.
When he jogged in the morning,
Without any warning,
Sheet lightning would shoot from his ass.
Miss Happ gushed, ‘As examiners go,
You’re the best of the seven I know!’
He sighed, ‘Thanks, but your test
Was a nightmare. You’d best
Move your car, for it’s parked on my toe.’
A great tamer of lions once got
His brave head in a rather tight spot.
At the end of the show
The beast couldn’t let go,
For they’d missed its last tetanus shot.
There’s an eight-foot-two giant named Grant
Who’s in love with his four-foot-one aunt.
Though I’ve heard their friends say
That true love finds a way,
Grant has told me himself that it can’t.
An I.R.A. retard called Grommet
Once entered a toy shop (to bomb it).
Kids made him uneasy,
So, feeling quite queasy,
He slipped, and blew up, in his vomit.
A lame vet was called out by the Gutches
(Whose twins were constructing new hutches).
Those cute little honeys,
While he healed their sick bunnies,
Made doorframes of wood from his crutches.
An old skeleton showed his faint heart
In that class for young students of art.
As they sketched the late Jones,
A belch rattled his bones,
For he hadn’t the guts left to fart.
Gus Gardiner missed the pink hues
Of occasional toes he would lose,
But he still never thought to
Resolve that he ought to
Start cutting his lawn wearing shoes.
Poor Patrick was sucked from a jet,
But fell smack in a circus-tent net.
Praise the Lord, for He’s kind
(Though perhaps somewhat blind,
As they hadn’t attached the net yet).
Though the pianist kept missing the keys
In his bid to keep pace, shouting, ‘Please!’
The conductor’s crazed baton
Just traced its mad pattern
Until it had dizzied six bees.
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In the United Kingdom and most English-speaking countries other than the United States of America, the word baton (BAT-uhn) rhymes with pattern (PAT-uhn).
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There was an old bloke of Khartoum
Who once kept seven sheep in his room.
I do not tell you this
To imply it’s remiss,
Just to say that he bought a large broom.
There’s an eager young guy of St. Kitts
Who excitedly stares at great tits.
His instrument high,
He will spot them and spy
On each bird as it flutters and flits.
The great scholar, who’d learned all he knew
When he read the Britannica through,
Had occasional lapses
With ‘quasars’ and ‘quapses’,
For he’d dozed on the first page of Q.
You are wrong if you think that Sir Lancelot,
When rescuing virgins, would chance a lot.
He sometimes would lance a bit,
(And even advance a bit),
But Lancelot mostly would prance a lot.
Yet at times he seemed forward, Sir Lancelot,
And made the odd maid glance askance a lot,
For when he was seen
Near King Arthur’s famed Queen,
His silk breeches, in front, would advance a lot.
An unfortunate nudist of Leith
Sadly sat on his furious teeth.
Although, from a denture,
Men don’t deserve censure,
They bit off a bit underneath.
Beneath long looping lengths of lianas,
And bountiful boughs of bananas,
The maidens all pleasure
Their chief, while at leisure,
Or otherwise pleasure piranhas.
Old Van Dyke, a Dutch hewer of logs,
Went to masquerade balls in his clogs.
When disguised as a tree,
He’d mistakenly be
Discommoded by drunks and rude dogs.
Two maliciously vicious old Mau-Maus
First tested their stealth on two cow-cows,
Then made a sly entry
To butcher two gentry,
And vested their health in two wow-wows.
Should you catch the bad beast of Loch Ness,
You’ll fail, I’m afraid, to impress
Drumnadrochit’s young men,
Who detest your sort when
They get called out to clean up the mess.
Captured outlaws, each wearing a noose,
Are near ready to drop. One breaks loose.
His compadres complain
As he’s dragged back again,
‘Shit, the sheriff’s now mad at us, Moose!’
An Emperor of Ancient Peru
Was enraged so decided to sue
The ten wives of those dangling
Whom now he’d done mangling
For blocking his very nice view
A researcher at Yale, with machines
And impressive statistical means,
Has confirmed that we guys,
Whether witless or wise,
Are all shaped by wee things in our genes.
The guards of the Queen suffer rain
Without twitching (or eye-blinding pain),
Yet despite wide exposure,
They lose their composure
When pissed on by dachshund or Dane.
A tumescent nude cyclist named Rangle
Once sped down the road at an angle,
Which gradually sagged
Till the chain, when it snagged,
Gave the angle of dangle for mangle.
D’you remember poor Glass? He still rants
After one of his jogs down in Hants.
The brassy-ball charge
Made his member, once large,
A charred victim of amps in his pants.
The famous young lady of Riga,
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger,
Came back from her ride
With wild stirrings inside,
And a pussycat now was the tiger.
A lone lady explorer named Schlichter
Once wrestled a boa constrictor.
On her hot jungle bed
They both writhed, and it’s said
The constrictor, as victor, then licked her.
The results of a poll will now ring
Loud alarm bells for all the left wing:
Of the guys who are gay,
Ninety-eight percent say
They would love to be under a king.
There was a failed fakir from Seoul
Who applied rather hotly for dole,
For despite risk of burning,
He tested a yearning
To sleep on his bed of hot coal.
Modest building contractor, George Shnee,
Did his courting on site with iced tea.
He would say to all questions
Concerning erections,
‘Let’s talk about buildings, not me.’
A learned young lady of Shoreham
Made newspaper dresses and woreham.
When news got around,
She was very soon found
Wearing new ones, not wishing to boreham.
There was an ill glutton from Slough
Who was told that his time was up now.
In his fear that once dead
He would not be well-fed,
He consumed sixteen cakes and a cow.
Said a schoolboy politely to Spratt,
‘Sir, the sofa on which you just sat –
Well, unless I’m mistaken,
The spot you have taken
Is that on which Pussy just shat.’
A shy carpenter shamed, by a stammer,
Studied speech and phonetics and grammar.
Greatly helped by all those,
His tongue fucking unfroze
When he next hit his thumb with a hammer.
A rich suitor called Jeremy Sturgeon
Once searched at great cost for a virgin.
Taking pains (which one must)
Not to show too much trust,
He spurned any sent by a surgeon.