Be advised.This is a VERY dirty poem.
I have loved poetry since childhood, and have read, and even
written poetry, though the latter was so awful as to have earned me a deserved beating from Bulwar-Lytton and the guy who wrote the screenplay for "Gigli" together.
But I also have a rather bawdy sense of humor, which means my taste in the arts includes poetry as well as prose, song, and interpretive dance impolite as well as polite.
This one is
quite impolite. You are advised that
it is neither safe for work nor the home and family, and the eyes of those of tender years should be warded from it lest they get the wrong ideas about men and women. And saloons.
And the poetry of Robert Service (in case you don't get the connection, go read "
The Shooting of Dan McGrew" before reading further) as well as Arctic manners and mores.
This is me entertaining myself, and perhaps you if you appreciate a dirty joke well told.
If you are of delicate constitution or douce temperament read no further!For I now give you the 1982 Fort Bragg Rugby Club version of
The Ballad of Eskimo NellGather 'round, you pimp and whore-y,
Gather 'round, and hear my story.When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his prick turns blue;
When it bends in the middle like a one-string fiddle,
He can tell you a tale or two.
So pull up a chair and stand me a drink,
And a tale to you I will tell
About Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
And a harlot named Eskimo Nell.
Now when Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Go forth in search of fun,
It's Dead-Eye Dick that carries the prick,
And Mexican Pete the gun.
This Dead-Eye Dick and this Mexican Pete
Lived down by Dead Man's Creek,
And such was their luck that they'd had no fuck
For nigh on half a week.
Sure, a moose or two, and a caribou,
And a bison cow or so,
But for Dead-Eye Dick with his massive prick,
This fucking was mighty slow.
Dick pounded his cock on a jagged rock,
And he said,
"I want to play!I've been wanking a week by this fucking creek,
With no women coming my way!"
So, do or dare, this horny pair
Set off for the Rio Grande:
Dead-Eye Dick with his frightful prick,
And Pete with his gun in his hand.
Then, as they blazed their noisy trail,
No man their path withstood.
The virgin bride, her husband's pride,
A pregnant widow stood.
They roared the strand of the Rio Grand
From midnight to blazing noon.
When to slake their thirst and do their worst,
They sought Black Mike's saloon.
The swinging doors they pushed back wide,
And two fearsome weapons flashed free.
"According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You'll drink or you'll fuck with me!"Now the boys knew of the fame of our hero's name
From Cape Horn to the Arctic stars;
So with nothing worse than a muttered curse
Those cowhands sought the bar.
The girls they knew of his playful ways
Down there on the Rio Grande,
So forty whores pulled down their drawers
At Dead-eyed Dick's command.
For they saw the finger of Mexican Pete
Move on the trigger grip,
So they didn't wait; at a fearful rate
Those whores began to strip.
Now, Dead-Eye Dick was breathing quick
With lecherous grunts and puffs,
For forty asses were bared to view,
And likewise forty muffs.
Now forty bums and forty quims,
If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick at arithmetic,
Makes exactly eighty tits.
Sure, eighty tits are a gladsome sight
For a man with a raging stand.
They may not be rare in Berkeley Square,
But they are on the Rio Grande!
His phallic limb was fighting trim.
As he backed and took a run,
And made a dart at the nearest tart,
He scored a hole in one.
The lady he bore to the dusty floor,
And there he filled her fine,
And though she grinned, it put the wind
Up the other thirty-nine.
Deadeye Dick was finished quick,
And flinging the first aside,
He was making a run at the second one,
When the swinging doors flew wide.
And entered in to that Hall of Sin,
Into that Harlot's Hell,
Strode a lusty maid who was unfraid:
Her name was Eskimo Nell.
By this time Dick had got his prick
Well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell let out a yell.
And bawled to him;
"Hey, you!"Dick gave a flick of his muscular prick,
And the girl flew over his head.
He then wheeled about with an angry shout -
His face and his bollocks were red.
With a lustful leer he said, "Look here,
Just get into the queue:
I've got to mate with thirty-eight
Before I get to you."
But Eskimo Nell, she stood up right well
And looked him dead in the eyes;
With utter scorn she sneered at the horn
That rose from his hairy thighs.
She drawled her scorn at his rampant thorn
In accents clear and cool:
"You sorry shrimp of a Yankee pimp!
You call that thing a
tool?
"If this here town can't take that down,"
She sneered to those cowering belles,
"There's another cunt that can do the stunt,
But it's surely Eskimo Nell's."
She dropped her garments one by one
With an air of conscious pride,
And as she stood in her womanhood,
They saw her Great Divide.
It is fair to state it was not so Great
As Deep as opposed to Wide;
And viewed from without, it left no doubt
Of the tensile strength inside.
She stubbed out the butt of her cigarette
On the end of his gleaming knob,
And so utterly beat was Mexico Pete
That he quite forgot his job.
She seated herself on a table top,
Where someone had left a glass.
With a twitch of her tits, she crushed it to bits
Between the cheeks of her ass.
She flexed her knees with a supple ease,
And spread her thighs apart.
With a friendly nod to the mangy sod,
She gave him the cue to start.
Now, Dead-Eye Dick knew more than one trick,
And he meant to take his time,
For a woman like this was orgasmic bliss,
So he played the pantomime.
He flexed his asshole to and fro,
And made his balls inflate,
Until they looked like the granite knobs
On the top of a palace gate.
He blew his anus inside out,
His scrotum increased in size,
His mighty prick grew twice as thick
And reached almost to his eyes.
He polished it up with alcohol,
Then, to make it steaming hot
And finish the job, he sprinkled the knob
With a cayenne pepperpot.
Then did he neither start to run
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but with a swoop
Made a steady, forward creep.
As a marksman might, he took a sight
Along his mighty tool,
And his steady grin as he pushed it in
Showed a calculated cool.
Have you ever seen the pistons
On the mighty
C.P.R.,
With the driving force of a thousand horse?
Well, then you know what pistons are.
Or, you
think you do, but you've yet to see
The ins and outs of the trick
Of the work when its done on a non-stop run
By a fellow like Dead-Eye Dick.
But Eskimo Nell was no infidel,
As good as a whole harem
With the strength of ten in her abdomen
And the Rock of Ages between.
With nary a scream, she could take the stream
Like the flush of a watercloset.
Now she gripped his cock like a Chatwood Lock
On the National Safe Deposit.
But Dead-Eye Dick would not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
For if he'd a mind he'd grind and grind
For sixteen solid hours.
Nell lay a while with a subtle smile,
Then the grip of her chasm grew keener,
And a squeeze of her thigh then sucked him dry
With the ease of a vacuum cleaner.
She performed this trick in a way so slick
As to set in complete defiance
The principal cause and basic laws
That govern sexual science.
She calmly rode through the phallic code
Which for years had withstood the test,
And the ancient rules of the classic schools
In a moment or two, went west.
Right here, my friend, we come to the end
Of copulation's classic:
The effect on Dick was sudden and quick
And akin to an anaesthetic.
He fell to the floor, and he knew no more,
His passions extinct and dead,
Nor did he shout as his cock fell out,
Though 'twas stripped right down to a thread.
Then, Mexican Pete did leap to his feet
To avenge his pal's last spasm,
With a jarring jolt of his blue-nosed Colt,
He rammed it up Nell's chasm.
He rammed it hard to the trigger guard,
Then fired two times three,
But to his surprise, Nell closed her eyes
And smiled in ecstasy.
Said Eskimo Nell, "You've rung my bell;
I'm ready to explode.
Oh Pete, my sweet, can you repeat?"
Said he, "I've shot my load".
She looked him down with a lowering frown,
Then "Too bad," she said, "for you,
I might have guessed that that was the best
That you two sad bastards could do."
"When next, my friend, that you intend
To sally forth for fun,
Buy Dead-Eye Dick a licorice stick,
And yourself an elephant gun."
"I'm going back to the frozen North
Where the peckers are hard and strong,
Back to the land of the grinding gland
Where the nights are six months long."
"It's hard as tin when they put it in
In the land where spunk is spunk.
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
But a frozen, steaming chunk."
"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
That's where they'll sing this song."
"Back to the wild and the icy North,
Where man and beast turn blue,
Where even the dead lie two to a bed
And the rotting corpses screw."
"Back to the land where men are Men,
I'll say
'Terra Bellicum,'And there I'll spend my worthy end,
For the North is calling:
'Come!'"
Then Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Slunk away from the Rio Grande,
Dead-Eye Dick with his broken prick,
And Pete with no gun in his hand.
When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his prick turns blue,
And the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?
I love this billboard for the pure opacity of it. This is the back side of the official Timbers Army scarf.
But the thing is, you wouldn't know that unless you are familiar with the team and its supporters. Which means you probably already support the team.
thought he was committing an act of guerilla violence.
But the animation was lovely; bright and cheery in the Disney style but still rich with detail. The main characters, stock company troupers that they were, were rendered with loving care, well-written, and nicely voiced. The supporting "actors" stole the show (as they often do) in the form of the stalwart guard-horse and Rapunzel's little tough-guy chameleon pal.
So all together it made a really delightful hour-and-a-half for a dad and daughter to spend as part of a midday Saturday.
To make something of worth, you have to care. Your caring might come from love, or hate, revenge, anger, or desire. But if you don't care about your creation it will show, and it did.
So the USWNT had first to defeat Costa Rica for third place, and then beat the sixith place European team - Italy - for a spot in the finals.
I've talked about this before; Wambach is a genuinely great player, but her ability makes her a perfect target and she tends to be badly over-used by a U.S. midfield that lacks passing dexterity and control and has no real wingers. The U.S. tends to go hey-diddle-diddle right through the middle, where it exposes the defensive ineptitude of most of the rest of CONCACAF as well as the clumsy soccer played by most of the women's teams from South America, Africa and Asia.
But the Germans have proved in the sternest fashion, by beating the Americans to the Cup the past eight years, that they have solved Wambach. Four years ago the brilliance of Marta combined with the tight marking that neutralized Wambach to allow Brazil to put a hurting on a badly coached, demoralized, and overage U.S. team. 
Two goals over the hapless Italians is just sad. And the lack of goalscoring isn't an aberration; the US has had difficulty scoring against decent teams all year. This year the U.S. begins its campaign for the Women's World Cup in an unusual position, as a challenger, and not a favored one at that. 
Very untraditional Turkey Day at the Fire Direction Center this year.
So a feast WAS had here, and family joy was celebrated, and a Star Wars movie was watched, and now it's time for bed.
This one is quite impolite. You are advised that it is neither safe for work nor the home and family, and the eyes of those of tender years should be warded from it lest they get the wrong ideas about men and women. And saloons. 
This Dead-Eye Dick and this Mexican Pete
They roared the strand of the Rio Grand
For they saw the finger of Mexican Pete
And entered in to that Hall of Sin,
"If this here town can't take that down,"
She flexed her knees with a supple ease,
He blew his anus inside out,
Have you ever seen the pistons
She performed this trick in a way so slick
Then, Mexican Pete did leap to his feet
Said Eskimo Nell, "You've rung my bell;
"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Then Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Yep. As shown here in that cinematic triumph, Dante's Peak:I love everything about this movie, starting with the name; Dante's Peak - Dante's Inferno, get it? Subtle as a hammer to the face?
Seriously. James Bond, U.S. Geological Survey. Pierce Brosnan; the late-Nineties Bond himself, bustles onto the scene in his whompin' cool U.S.G.S. SUV (complete with snorkel for driving through rivers - you knew that all federal geologists are issued these, right?) to bark warnings to the ignorant hicks (producing much alarmed headshaking) and argue with complacent superiors (to be first reprimanded and, after the inevitable eruption, ruefully deferred to). Oh, and to conduct a "romance" with Linda the mayor/barista, naturally, although from the weak decaf they brew together it seems that Mister Kiss-kiss-bang-bang has left his Walther in his other pants and that Sarah Connor is still looking for Mr. Right rather than Mr. Right Now.
But he's fucking James Bond, people. And he works for the U.S.G.S.! 
Let's face it; geology is just flat-out, stomp-down, shake-your-moneymaker cool, and that's all there is to it.
A transoceanic tip of the hard hat to Ms. Novis!
I met a man who wasn't there
he wasn't there again today
I wish, I wish he'd stay away
“It’s not him,” said a Western diplomat in Kabul intimately involved in the discussions. “And we gave him a lot of money.”
And the epitaph drear: "A Fool lies here who tried to hustle the East."
"Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
Before you could say "Rapunzel" little Miss had lost half her shiny black hair.
So she was a very Good Little Girl and ended up with the appallingly cliche' Adorable Chinese Moppet Bowl Cut; she looks like she stepped off the package of some awful La Choy industrial-grade dinner. Sweet-and-sour pork, probably.
Mind you, everything has its cost. For us it was two anxious hours hovering over the Girl ensuring that the vile louse-shampoo stayed out of her "nose, eyes, mouth, and vagina" (according to the directions on the package. Who the hell goes around sticking louse shampoo in their lovely lady bits? Unless you're stupid enough to use this stuff on CRAB lice, which it very clearly tells you not to. Honestly, just when you think you've plumbed the depth of human inanity...). The pink headband was a means to keep the stuff off her face.
Anyway, the entire effort seems to have been worth it. So far, Little Miss appears louse-free. And her mother does, too, since after several hours of furtive scratching (entirely sympathetic, IMO) Mojo dosed herself, too.
