A resored limerick, told me in fragments by a bartender W.H. Auden recited it to:
Said the king to the queen, We do frown on
Your getting in bed with your crown on;
We lie there in fear
If the points come too near
We'll be gored while we’re being gone down on.
Although toes were his favorite dish
Hers were riper than he could quite wish.
The solution he found
Was to work his way down
And have the cheese after the fish.
Picking my nose in the nude
Might seem a little bit rude
But it’s in to the knuckle
And with any luck’ll
Be out while we’re still in the mood.
Although ordinarily gracious,
Certain comments could make her pugnatious,
As when he implied
That when he was inside,
Her thing was a little too spacious.
So she dripped on his honor a stain
By permitting herself to complain
That during the act
The regrettable fact
Was she didn’t quite feel enough pain.
The best, if not the only way, to ride her
Is with her on her back, and you inside her.
With the lady on her front
You’re a boathook in her cunt,
And may as well just pry her pucker wider.
The expulsion of waste from the bowels
To the gutturalizing of vowels
Occasions such pleasure
That ladies of leisure
Sit and strain till it jiggles their jowls.
I hang from the bedstead above you,
And now I must surgically glove you,
So that we can extract
With exquisite tact
A nice little souvenir of you.