* * *
There was a young lady of Gloucester Whose friends they thought they had lost her,
Till they found on the grass
The marks of her arse, And of the knees of the man who had crossed her.
* * *
A pansy who lived in Khartoum Took a lesbian up to his room,
And they argued all night
Over who had the right To do what, and with which, and to whom.
* * *
`My back aches. My penis is sore. I simply can't fuck any more.
I'm dripping with sweat,
And you haven't come yet; And, my God! it's a quarter to four!'
* * *
There was a young Jewess named Hannah Who sucked off her lover's banana.
She swore that the cream
That shot out in a stream Tasted better than Biblical manna.
* * *
A worried young man from Stamboul Discovered red spots on his tool.
Said the doctor, a cynic,
`Get out of my clinic! Just wipe off the lipstick, you fool.'
* * *
There was a young fellow named Lancelot Whom his neighbors all looked on askance a lot.
Whenever he'd pass
A presentable lass, The front of his pants would advance a lot.
* * *
Exclaimed a young girl in Kildare, As her lover's jock towered in air,
`If that goes in me I
Shall certainly die -As I shall if it doesn't go there.'
* * *
There was a young girl of Spitzbergen Whose people all thought her a virgin,
Till they found her in bed
With her quim very red, And the head of a kid just emergin'.
* * *
There was a young fellow named Bliss Whose sex life was strangely amiss,
For even with Venus
His recalcitrant penis Would never do better than t
h
i
s
.
* * *
There was a young maid from Madras Who had a magnificent ass;
Not rounded and pink,
As you probably think -It was grey, had long ears, and ate grass.
* * *
The nipples of Sarah Sarong, When excited, are twelve inches long.
This embarrassed her lover
Who was pained to discover She expected no less of his dong.
SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS PORNOGRAPHY
We've socially conscious biography, Esthetics, and social geography.
Today every field
Boasts its Marxian yield, So now there's class-conscious pornography.
Oh, the worker is nobody's fool, For by rights he's the man with the tool.
His ponderous prick'll
Arise with the sickle, And bugger the Fascists who rule.
Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties.
Her very best ad
Was herself, lightly clad In her three-ninety-five silken scanties.
So this wench is a capitalist, She's our villain and ought to be hissed.
But she's lush and she's plump,
And a glimpse of her rump Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed.
Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out To give Communist Labor the knock-out.
She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.'
(She'd attended good schools), And took a fresh bottle of Hock out.
Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman (And an eminent amateur whoreman).
Just to be sympathetic
He grew peripatetic, 'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman.
For this lout was a scab born and bred, Who fainted whene'er he saw red:
In distress he reported,
But she only retorted, `Run home and hide under your bed.'
For her plans were peculiar and wicked, As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.'
She lured him inside
And insidiously plied The prick of the picket to lick it.
Joe's rod was stiff as a rail, But he couldn't let principles fail.
`You degenerate bitch,
That's a trick of the rich; But the people prefer honest tail.
`You may tickle the cocks and the vanities Of the rich men who purchase your scanities,
But the proud People's front
Calls for sound hairy cunt. So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.'
He picked a soft couch in her office, And tore off her pants and ripped off his.
Then he showed her the rod
Marks the difference, by God, Between what a man and a toff is.
Now our Joe was the first proletarian Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian
Recess of de Vaughan,
Which had sheltered the spawn Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan.
Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring, You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?'
He replied, `Starving masses
Mean more than plump asses. Last night from within I was boring.'
And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over, Her picket had left (to recover),
But he'd furnished her womb
With incipient bloom: A fact she had yet to discover.
So after nine months, to the day, The employer in labor pains lay.
As the boy hove in sight
He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!' And the doctors all fainted away.
The moral of this is, my child, By rich promises don't be beguiled.
Remember that workers
Are eminent firkers, And go left, if you must be defiled.
Re: One limerick (in English)
Newsgroups: relcom.humor From: gambit.msk.su!sas@pulsar.ac.msk.su (Serge A. Sekaev) Subject: Re: One limerick (in English)
There was a man from Racine Who invented a didling machine; Both concave and convex, It could fit either sex ...
I got a woman living right back of the jail, She got a sign on her window - Pussy For Sale.
There was a young man from Eau Claire Who didled his wife on the stair.
Papa's in jail, Mama's on bail, Baby's on the corner Shouting "Pussy for sale!"
Наблюдение за природой
На окне сидит ворона И кота в виду имеет. Кот ее имеет тоже К сожаленью сквозь стекло. И ворона размышляет: Хорошо ему, собаке, Там в тепле, когда снаружи Вот такие холода. Кот вылизывыает ухо Типа вовсе не имеет Никаких ворон приблудных, А сам думает себе: Кабы мне такую морду, Да такие руки-крюки, Да такие ноги-крылья, Как бы я ее поймал! Хрен-та! - думает ворона, Разбежался, мохноногий. Ты следи, чтоб от волненья Все себе не отлизал. Кот слегка смежает веки: Помню, в тысяча каком-то Не тебя ли я, паршивку, Чуть на перья не пустил? А стекло меж ними ходит И волнуется, бедняга: Так и хочется ворону Помирить ему с котом. Разрывается от счастья, От волнения потеет, Побежалостью исходит... Вот и лопнуло совсем! Поразилась тут ворона Неужели кот раскокал? Кот не меньше удивился: Не ворона, а качок! И, довольные друг другом, Так сидели целый вечер, А стекло внизу валялось И пускало пузыри.