Text 3442, 210 rader
Skriven 2006-02-06 11:17:04 av Greg Sears (3:633/104)
Ärende: Ha ha
=============
There was a young fellow named Fyfe
who married the pride of his life,
  But imagine his pain
  when he struggld in vain
And just couldn't get into his wife.

Now the trouble was not with our hero,
Who, though no match for Holmes or Nero
  Had a good little dong
  That was eight inches long
And as stiff as a parsnip at zero.

But his efforts to poke her, assiduous
Met a dense growth of hair most prodiguous
  Well, he though he might dint her
  By waiting till winter
But he found that she wasn't deciduous

Now here was this fellow named Fyfe
Unable to diddle his wife
  Which fact, sad, but true
  Left him nothing to do
But bugger the girl all his life.

For diversion this might have been funny,
And, of course it did save him some money
  But it angered our Fifey
  To think that his wifey
Was hoarding her deep nest of honey

He went whoring to find satisfaction
But with whores, though accomplished in action
  He never could capture
  That fine fucking rapture
For the thought of his wife was distraction.

So here was our fellow named Fyfe
With a truly impervious wife
  She was not worth a damn
  Being close as a clam---
Why, he couldn't get in with a knife!

The problem that harassed his soul
was: What kept him out of her hole?
  Was her hymen too tough ?
  Was she stuffed up with fluff?
Was her coosie the home of a mole?

This was just what poor Fyfe couldn't tell,
For her prow was as sound as a bell.
  He'd have needed a gimlet
  to get into her quimlet
And it made the poor guy mad as hell.

Fyfe seacrhed for that chap from New York
Who had punctured the hymen like cork
  But *he* was quite coy
  For he now loved a boy
And refused to help Fyfe with the stork.

Fyfe asked Durand how much he'd charge
(The fellow who's cock could contract and enlarge)
  To drill his way in
  With his prick like a pin
And there make it slowly enlarge.

But Durand--though he'd fuck with no urgin--
Warned "Apart from the risk that she'll burgeon,
  Your pride must be low
  If you'll meekly forego
A crack at a genuine virgin."

In the meantime, Fyfe's wife, who had wed
With *some* thought to the pleasures of bed
  Was becoming depressed
  In fact damn near obsessed
With her terribly tough maidenhead.

She remarked, "When all joking is done,
What I honestly want is a son.
  I would like impregnation
  If not copulation
But to wed and have neither's no fun!"

Thus she thought of synthetic conception
Which at first seemed like basest deception
  But her cunt was so sore
  From Fyfe's trying to bore
That she gave the thought better reception.

And indeed, thought it's sad to relate it,
Her first fuck was so sadly belated
  That a poke with a pin
  Though ever so thin
Was a prospect that made her elated.

To be brief,the great action was done
There was artfully planted a son
   Through a bodkin that filled her,
   And wonderfully thrilled her
 More fun than a son of a gun.

This syringe, which was long but quite thin
Left a hole that Fyfe couldn't get in,
  But he kept right on busting
  And jousting and thrusting
On account of his excess of vim.

While she mused on this synthetic screw,
The sperm got well planted and grew
  And the great day approached
  When her breach would be broached
But Fyfe, the poor wretch, never knew.

One night, while in sheer desperation
He prodded and poked like tarnation
  His wife groaned with pain
  She gave way!! Would he gain
The goal of three year's contemplation?

The head of his dingus went in!
He felt sure he was going to win
  He thrust like a demon
  He split all his semen
And scraped off a square inch of skin

But despite all his trying he found
He was loosing, not gaining, his ground
  Though he clung to her thighs
  While he tried for the prize
Each push in caused a greater rebound.

The harder the poor fellow tried
The more her hold filled from inside
  Till he fell back quite spent
  His prick battered and bent
And a few minutes later he died

As he passed, a new life was begun
And his tomb tells how he was undone
  "Shed a tear for poor Fyfe
  His imperforate wife
Did him in with the aid of their son."

Two starry-eyed, reckless young beaux
Were held up and robbed of their cleaux.
  While the weather is hot
  They won't mess them a lot_
But what will they do when it sneaux?

There was a young pastor in Kew
Who kept a brown cow in a pew.
  There he taught it each week
  A new letter in Greek,
But it never got farther then mu.

There was a young lady named Lynn
Who thought that to love was a sin.
  But when she was tight
  She considered it right__
So everyone filled her with gin.

A certain sweet girl from Key West
Was uncommonly large in the chest
  Any man's close attention
  To her outside dimension
Brought his own measurement to it best.

There once was a lady from Exeter
So pretty that men craned their necks at her
  One was even so brave
  As to take out and wave
The distinguishing mark of his sex at her.

There was a young lady of Twickenham
Who thought men had not enough prick in 'em
  On her knees every day
  To God she would pray
To lengthen and strengthen and thicken 'em.

 A naive young boy from farm land
Was told that fucking was grand.
  But at his first trial,
  He said with a smile,
"I've had the same feeling by hand."

There was an old yokel of Beaconsfield
Engaged to look after the deacon's field,
  But he lurked in the ditches
  And diddled the bitches
Who happened to cross that antique 'un's field.

There's a charming young lady named Beaulieu
Who's often been screwed by yours truly,
  By now -- it's appallin, --
  My balls always fall in!
I fear that I've fucked her unduly.



Cheers,
.            o      _      _          _ From the
.   _o      /\_    _ \o   (@)\__/o   (@)      I C E-man
. _< \_    _>(@)  (@)/<_     \_| \    _|/' \/
.(@)>(@)  (@)         (@)    (@)     (@)'  _\o_ OUCH!

... Cool! I figured out the Sysop's passwor$>@7& NO CARRIER

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