From bdragon!bawdy-owner Sat Mar 9 20:50:30 1996 Return-Path: bdragon!bawdy-owner Received: from shore.shore.net (uucp@shore.shore.net [192.233.85.136]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with SMTP id UAA08199 for ; Sat, 9 Mar 1996 20:50:26 -0800 (PST) Received: from bdragon.UUCP by shore.shore.net with UUCP id AA02362 (5.67a/IDA-1.5 for cray@mizar.usc.edu); Sat, 9 Mar 1996 23:49:54 -0500 Received: by bdragon.shore.net (0.99.960124) id AA09831; 09 Mar 96 14:48:59 -0500 From: buyensl@primenet.com (Lorrill Buyens) Date: Thu, 7 Mar 1996 14:41:17 -0700 (MST) X-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Subject: PI stories Message-Id: <199603072141.OAA00354@usr3.primenet.com> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: I posted the following PI anecdote, which I read in a book of children's playground rhymes, songs, stories & etc. from the 60's, on Fidonet about 2 years ago: My name is _____. I'm a private investigator. I was working late one night when I heard a knock on my door. It nearly scared me out of my secretary. A woman came into my office and pointed two 38's at me, she also had a gun. She told me she'd heard that I was the best private dick in town, and she wanted to hire me. I told her I'd take the case. When we got to her car, we found that it had a flat tire. She pumped, I pumped, she pumped, I pumped, then I got the jack. We were driving along when a rock flew through the window and hit her where it hurts - it also broke my glasses. When we got to her house we found that the door was locked. I went in and out and in and out, then she gave me the key. There was a chocolate cake in the kitchen. She had a piece, I had a piece, she had a piece, I had a piece, then we cut the cake. She told me that she had 13 sisters. They were all very fine. I felt like a jackrabbit jumping from hole to hole. When I got back to the office the next day I couldn't stop thinking about her. I had a lump in my throat and a lump in my pants. I called in my secretary. This prompted an Australian guy to send me the following version: I'm a private eye. I was sitting in my Adelaide office, when there was a knock at the door, which scared me half out of my secretary. Then my first case came in and I polished off 2 bottles. I'm so tough I wear clothes out from the inside. Suddenly this tall blonde walked past, I knew she was tall as I was on the third floor. The phone rang and I knew something was wrong as I don't have a phone. It was a girl, and then I knew there was something definately wrong, because she told me so. I raced down the stairs and called a cab, the cab stopped with a jerk, the jerk got out and I got in. The driver took the curb at 80 mph, but a cop stopped us and told the driver to put the curb back. We kept on the footpath because there was a sign saying 'KEEP DEATH OFF THE ROADS.' Then we were out of the city. I knew this because we weren't hitting as many pedestrians. When we came to my client's house she greeted me with a burning kiss, then she took the cigarette out of her mouth and kissed me again. She pointed two 38's at me, she also had a gun. She had the most beautiful blonde hair, on her head, too. She had teeth like the ten commandments - all broken. She had the most beautiful eyes - in fact, one kept staring at the other one. There was a man on the floor. He had stab wounds to the heart, bullet wounds to the head, and slashed wrists - he was dead. I took her for a drive in the country, when a brick came through the window, hit her left tit, and broke four of my fingers. Then the car got a flat tire. She pumped, I pumped and she pumped again, then we got out and fixed the tire. When I took her home, she asked me for some rootbeer. The root was nice, the beer was flat. I was giving her a goodnight kiss when she closed her legs and broke my glasses! -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.shore.net From bdragon!bawdy-owner Sat Mar 9 20:51:34 1996 Return-Path: bdragon!bawdy-owner Received: from shore.shore.net (uucp@shore.shore.net [192.233.85.136]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with SMTP id UAA08215 for ; Sat, 9 Mar 1996 20:51:31 -0800 (PST) Received: from bdragon.UUCP by shore.shore.net with UUCP id AA02688 (5.67a/IDA-1.5 for cray@mizar.usc.edu); Sat, 9 Mar 1996 23:50:47 -0500 Received: by bdragon.shore.net (0.99.960124) id AA09832; 09 Mar 96 14:49:07 -0500 From: chris@keris.demon.co.uk (Chris Croughton) Date: Fri, 08 Mar 96 21:14:20 GMT X-To: bawdyl@keris.demon.co.uk Subject: The Night of the King's Castration Message-Id: <1619@keris.demon.co.uk> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: Ed Cray wrote: >Herewith the version of "The Night of the King's Castration" as collected >by Dean Burson at UCLA in 1959 from an unidentified fraternity brother. > >I would appreciate hearing from those of you who have heard of this >recitation, or recall portions (or other versions) of it. It is unusual, >for it has contributed at least four rather well-known "jokes" or >"witticisms" in oral tradition. Many know one- or two-liners from it. OK, this is the version from my mailserver, as sent to me. It's not exactly the same as yours - it's shorter, but there are some additions as well. The person who sent it to me said: "I transcribed it from a really *BAD* tape that a former roommate brought back from an interkingdom event a couple of years ago" - I think folk drift has hit it hard ... =============================================================== T'was the night of the King's Castration & they were throwing a royal ball -- his left one. The King cried, not because he had to, but because he _had_ two! (high, squeaky voice here) "Balls," cried the Queen, "If I had two, I'd be King." "Nuts," said the Prince, "I've got two and I'm not King." The counts, dis-counts, and no-accounts were sitting squarely about the Round Table throwing camel turds, for in those days, Bullshit was unknown. In rode David on a tall stud horse; in strode the King in a diamond-studded jock strap. "Hole," cried David. "What hole?" cried the King. "Ass-hole!" cried David, thus scoring one for the common people. "Where's the Princess," cried David. "She's in bed with diptheria," replied the King. "What, is that damned Greek son of a bitch back again?" cried David. For his impudence, David was thrown in the lair of the Mangy Beast. He circled the Beast and grabbed him by the left nut. "Ouch, that tickles," said the Beast. "What tickles?" Queried David. "Test-tickles," replied the Beast, thus scoring one for the Mangy Beast. David squeezed harder and the Beast shit at random, but Random ducked and shit at the King. "Ah, shit," cried the King, and 60,000 loyal subjects bent and grunted to their utmost, for as we all know, in those days, The King's Word was Law. David squeezed harder, and the Beast died. For his bravery, he was called forth, but he slipped on a camel turd and came in fifth. But, there was still no sign of the Princess. "Where's the Princess," screamed David. "Ah, screw the Princess" replied the King, and that, my friends, is how 60,000 loyal subjects died in a mad rush to reach the Princess's bedchamber; for as we all know, in those days, The King's Word was Law. .-------------------------------.-------------------------------------. | chris@keris.demon.co.uk | FIAWOL (Filking Is A Way Of Life) | '-------------------------------^-------------------------------------' This message is void in Germany, China, the United States, and other places where free speech is prohibited by law. -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.shore.net From cray@mizar.usc.edu Sat Mar 6 09:34:39 1996 Return-Path: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Received: from transfer.stratus.com (transfer.stratus.com [134.111.1.10]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with ESMTP id JAA04938 for ; Wed, 6 Mar 1996 09:34:36 -0800 (PST) Received: from light.jjm.com (light.hqsl.stratus.com [134.111.105.15]) by transfer.stratus.com (8.7.4/8.7.3) with ESMTP id MAA14403; Wed, 6 Mar 1996 12:32:09 -0500 (EST) Received: from jjmhome.jjm.com (root@jjmhome.jjm.com [198.114.254.1]) by light.jjm.com (8.7.3/8.7.3) with ESMTP id MAA25791; Wed, 6 Mar 1996 12:32:07 -0500 (EST) Received: from bdragon.UUCP (Ubdragon@localhost) by jjmhome.jjm.com (8.7.3/8.7.3) with UUCP id MAA12350; Wed, 6 Mar 1996 12:18:39 -0500 (EST) X-Authentication-Warning: jjmhome.jjm.com: Ubdragon set sender to bdragon!bawdy-owner using -f Received: by bdragon.jjm.com (0.99.960124) id AA09461; 06 Mar 96 06:03:55 -0500 From: Ed Cray Date: Tue, 5 Mar 1996 18:30:36 -0800 (PST) X-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com, folktalk@leo.vsla.edu Subject: The Night of the King's Castration Message-Id: X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: Herewith the version of "The Night of the King's Castration" as collected by Dean Burson at UCLA in 1959 from an unidentified fraternity brother. 'Twas the night of the king's castration; the royal ball was coming off. Counts, discounts and no-counts stood around the courtyard, camel-dunging one another, for bullshit was as yet unheard of. Then in came Daniel with his balls slung over his shoulder. "What ho!" cried Daniel. "Asshole," said the king. "Then suck it!" roared Daniel, thereby scoring a point fo the common people. Now this made the king very angry, and he ordered Daniel to come forth. But Daniel slipped on a lion [camel?] turd and came fifth. This made Daniel so furious that he picked up the lion turd and threw it at Random. But Random ducked and it hit the king. Now, this made the king even more angry, so he ordered Daniel to be thrown into the den of lions. There was Daniel in the midst of all those roaring, snarling beasts. But of course you could easily recognize Daniel by the large green parasol which he always carried. Suddenly, one of the lions seized Daniel by the left gonad. "Ouch!" cried Daniel. "It tickles." "What tickles?" asked the king. "Testicles!" roared Daniel, thereby scoring anothr point for the common people. Upon hearing this, all the ladies in the couryard took out their tits and tittered. Now shtis made the king exceedingly angry, and so he inquired, "Where's the queen?" "M'lord, she is on the royal crapper." "And is she well supplied with paper?" "M'lord, she has forty reams of the finest linen." "It is good," said the king. "And where's the princess?" "Oh, she is upstairs in bed with laryngitis." "I'll kill that fucking Greek!" cried the king. "Oh well, fuck the princess!" And fifty thousand loyal subjects were trampled in the rush, for in those days, the king's word was law, and the kign ruled with an iron hand. This made the king exceedingly angry, and in exasperation he cried, "Oh, shit!" And fifty thousand loyal subjects squatted and grunted in unison, for in those days the king's word was law, and the king ruled with an iron hand. Later in the evening, the king entered the royal boudoir and beheld the queen, lying in nature's attire. "Roll over!" cried the king. "I'll be fucked if I will!" said the queen. "You'll be corn-hauled [sic] if you won't" cried the king. Upon hearing this, the queen shit a gold brick, for in those days a square asshole was [a] symbol of royalty. When the king saw this, he cried, "Balls!" not because he wanted to, but because he had two. And the queen replied, "Balls? If I had two I could be king!" I would appreciate hearing from those of you who have heard of this recitation, or recall portions (or other versions) of it. It is unusual, for it has contributed at least four rather well-known "jokes" or "witticisms" in oral tradition. Many know one- or two-liners from it. Ed Cray cray@mizar.usc.edu -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.jjm.com From bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Wed Jun 12 09:42:20 1996 Return-Path: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Received: from shore.shore.net (uucp@shore.shore.net [192.233.85.136]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with ESMTP id JAA25847 for ; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 09:42:19 -0700 (PDT) Received: from bdragon.UUCP (uucp@localhost) by shore.shore.net (8.7.5/8.7.3) with UUCP id MAA28174; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 12:42:15 -0400 (EDT) Received: by bdragon.shore.net (0.99.960124) id AA09831; 09 Mar 96 14:48:59 -0500 From: buyensl@primenet.com (Lorrill Buyens) Date: Thu, 7 Mar 1996 14:41:17 -0700 (MST) X-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Subject: PI stories Message-Id: <199603072141.OAA00354@usr3.primenet.com> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: I posted the following PI anecdote, which I read in a book of children's playground rhymes, songs, stories & etc. from the 60's, on Fidonet about 2 years ago: My name is _____. I'm a private investigator. I was working late one night when I heard a knock on my door. It nearly scared me out of my secretary. A woman came into my office and pointed two 38's at me, she also had a gun. She told me she'd heard that I was the best private dick in town, and she wanted to hire me. I told her I'd take the case. When we got to her car, we found that it had a flat tire. She pumped, I pumped, she pumped, I pumped, then I got the jack. We were driving along when a rock flew through the window and hit her where it hurts - it also broke my glasses. When we got to her house we found that the door was locked. I went in and out and in and out, then she gave me the key. There was a chocolate cake in the kitchen. She had a piece, I had a piece, she had a piece, I had a piece, then we cut the cake. She told me that she had 13 sisters. They were all very fine. I felt like a jackrabbit jumping from hole to hole. When I got back to the office the next day I couldn't stop thinking about her. I had a lump in my throat and a lump in my pants. I called in my secretary. This prompted an Australian guy to send me the following version: I'm a private eye. I was sitting in my Adelaide office, when there was a knock at the door, which scared me half out of my secretary. Then my first case came in and I polished off 2 bottles. I'm so tough I wear clothes out from the inside. Suddenly this tall blonde walked past, I knew she was tall as I was on the third floor. The phone rang and I knew something was wrong as I don't have a phone. It was a girl, and then I knew there was something definately wrong, because she told me so. I raced down the stairs and called a cab, the cab stopped with a jerk, the jerk got out and I got in. The driver took the curb at 80 mph, but a cop stopped us and told the driver to put the curb back. We kept on the footpath because there was a sign saying 'KEEP DEATH OFF THE ROADS.' Then we were out of the city. I knew this because we weren't hitting as many pedestrians. When we came to my client's house she greeted me with a burning kiss, then she took the cigarette out of her mouth and kissed me again. She pointed two 38's at me, she also had a gun. She had the most beautiful blonde hair, on her head, too. She had teeth like the ten commandments - all broken. She had the most beautiful eyes - in fact, one kept staring at the other one. There was a man on the floor. He had stab wounds to the heart, bullet wounds to the head, and slashed wrists - he was dead. I took her for a drive in the country, when a brick came through the window, hit her left tit, and broke four of my fingers. Then the car got a flat tire. She pumped, I pumped and she pumped again, then we got out and fixed the tire. When I took her home, she asked me for some rootbeer. The root was nice, the beer was flat. I was giving her a goodnight kiss when she closed her legs and broke my glasses! -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.shore.net From bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Wed Jun 12 09:42:54 1996 Return-Path: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Received: from shore.shore.net (uucp@shore.shore.net [192.233.85.136]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with ESMTP id JAA25937 for ; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 09:42:51 -0700 (PDT) Received: from bdragon.UUCP (uucp@localhost) by shore.shore.net (8.7.5/8.7.3) with UUCP id MAA28278; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 12:42:49 -0400 (EDT) Received: by bdragon.shore.net (0.99.960124) id AA09832; 09 Mar 96 14:49:07 -0500 From: chris@keris.demon.co.uk (Chris Croughton) Date: Fri, 08 Mar 96 21:14:20 GMT X-To: bawdyl@keris.demon.co.uk Subject: The Night of the King's Castration Message-Id: <1619@keris.demon.co.uk> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: Ed Cray wrote: >Herewith the version of "The Night of the King's Castration" as collected >by Dean Burson at UCLA in 1959 from an unidentified fraternity brother. > >I would appreciate hearing from those of you who have heard of this >recitation, or recall portions (or other versions) of it. It is unusual, >for it has contributed at least four rather well-known "jokes" or >"witticisms" in oral tradition. Many know one- or two-liners from it. OK, this is the version from my mailserver, as sent to me. It's not exactly the same as yours - it's shorter, but there are some additions as well. The person who sent it to me said: "I transcribed it from a really *BAD* tape that a former roommate brought back from an interkingdom event a couple of years ago" - I think folk drift has hit it hard ... =============================================================== T'was the night of the King's Castration & they were throwing a royal ball -- his left one. The King cried, not because he had to, but because he _had_ two! (high, squeaky voice here) "Balls," cried the Queen, "If I had two, I'd be King." "Nuts," said the Prince, "I've got two and I'm not King." The counts, dis-counts, and no-accounts were sitting squarely about the Round Table throwing camel turds, for in those days, Bullshit was unknown. In rode David on a tall stud horse; in strode the King in a diamond-studded jock strap. "Hole," cried David. "What hole?" cried the King. "Ass-hole!" cried David, thus scoring one for the common people. "Where's the Princess," cried David. "She's in bed with diptheria," replied the King. "What, is that damned Greek son of a bitch back again?" cried David. For his impudence, David was thrown in the lair of the Mangy Beast. He circled the Beast and grabbed him by the left nut. "Ouch, that tickles," said the Beast. "What tickles?" Queried David. "Test-tickles," replied the Beast, thus scoring one for the Mangy Beast. David squeezed harder and the Beast shit at random, but Random ducked and shit at the King. "Ah, shit," cried the King, and 60,000 loyal subjects bent and grunted to their utmost, for as we all know, in those days, The King's Word was Law. David squeezed harder, and the Beast died. For his bravery, he was called forth, but he slipped on a camel turd and came in fifth. But, there was still no sign of the Princess. "Where's the Princess," screamed David. "Ah, screw the Princess" replied the King, and that, my friends, is how 60,000 loyal subjects died in a mad rush to reach the Princess's bedchamber; for as we all know, in those days, The King's Word was Law. .-------------------------------.-------------------------------------. | chris@keris.demon.co.uk | FIAWOL (Filking Is A Way Of Life) | '-------------------------------^-------------------------------------' This message is void in Germany, China, the United States, and other places where free speech is prohibited by law. -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.shore.net From bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Wed Jun 12 09:43:47 1996 Return-Path: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Received: from shore.shore.net (uucp@shore.shore.net [192.233.85.136]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.7.2/8.7.2/usc) with ESMTP id JAA26067 for ; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 09:43:44 -0700 (PDT) Received: from bdragon.UUCP (uucp@localhost) by shore.shore.net (8.7.5/8.7.3) with UUCP id MAA28469; Wed, 12 Jun 1996 12:43:41 -0400 (EDT) Received: by bdragon.shore.net (0.99.960124) id AA00353; 16 Mar 96 10:04:32 -0500 From: buyensl@primenet.com (Lorrill Buyens) Date: Fri, 15 Mar 1996 14:17:05 -0700 (MST) X-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Subject: Rome poem Message-Id: <199603152117.OAA03587@usr1.primenet.com> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net (Multiple recipients of Bawdy Filking) Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.shore.net Precedence: bulk Status: RO X-Status: >From _WAR BIRDS: Diary of an Unknown Aviator_ (George H. Doran Company; 1926). Since the author was anonymous, I attribute little, if any, truth to the story behind the poem. For a while one of the boys [American pilots stationed in England] was playing around with a very charming young lady who more or less owed allegiance to a big diplomat who was in Holland on a mission of state. She had a beautiful apartment and he was more or less enjoying himself in the absence of the baron. But the gentleman returned suddenly and he was henceforth out of luck. We were all kidding him about it one night and Springs [friend of the author] after listening a while retired and penned a poem on the subject. We all told him how rotten the meter was but he said that was charged up to poetic license. Here's a copy of the revised version: A portly Roman Senator was sipping his Rock and Rye, When a classic Vestal Virgin caught his educated eye; "Ah, ha," he cried, enraptured, "that's just about my style, Behold the old come-hither look, that makes the wild men wild!" The old boy was no novice, for he'd served his time in Gaul, And he saw she was a chicken and the flapper pose a stall, So he flashed a roll of talents and she flashed him back a smile, And she shrugged her architecture in a manner to beguile. While the young bucks wagered drachmae that his game would never win, He was letting her drive the chariot and chucking her under the chin. They dined at the smart Lucullus, saw the Coliseum show, Supped at the Appian Roadhouse where the party's never slow; They drank a lot of Roman punch and shook a wicked hip, For she taught him the Tiber Grapevine and the Herculeum Dip. Said he, "If you're a Vestal, it's because you've had no chance,-- I can see that you're ambitious by the charming way you dance, I'm getting rather lonely and I've got a tidy bit, Oh, really, you must come over." She answered, "Tempus fugit." As he gave his chariot number to the chasseur at the door, He heard the garcon whisper, "Sine qua non, caveat emptor." He gave her a three-horse chariot, a flat with a cellar of booze, And introduced her as his niece, who had moved from Syracuse. He bought her Carthaginian Togas, her sandals came from Thrace, And her B.V.D.'s were Grecian and were trimmed with Persian lace. Her hair was bound with fillets of platinum and gold, And she sprayed her dainty tonsils with a vintage rare and old. The young bucks were green with envy, which but aroused his mirth, And he boasted, "To hell with all expense, I'm getting my money's worth." But he had to go to Naples, where some rents were overdue, While she lingered by the Tiber, complaining of the flu. And no great time elapsed ere the wise ones slyly winked, And they whispered, "Habeas corpus," as their golden goblets clinked, For it was gossiped at the banquets and told o'er games of cards, That a certain dashing Shavetail of Julius Caesar's Guards, Was bringing home the bacon, had a latchkey to the flat, Had soused himself in pre-war stock and was staging a terrible bat. Now the Senator in Naples was leasing out his piers, When the gossip from the Tiber was wafted to his ears, He cursed his Naples real estate and paged his charioteer, As he scorched along the highway, he pumaced off his spear. He broke the record back to Rome and arrived with a terrible shout, But the Shavetail heard him on the stairs and escaped by the gutter spout. The Senator surveyed his flat, with bottles everywhere, And picked up some scattered plumage and bits of odd tinware. The lady wept in anguish, but he only mocked her cries, "I gave you rings for your fingers, now they're beneath your eyes." The sweet young thing was cagey, she'd expected his return, And she exclaimed, "Semper fidelis, won't you ever learn! "Dear Caesar came to see me, said Pompey's getting hot, And the Legion's drilling badly and the Navy's gone to pot; So to stimulate recruiting, I've been flirting with this Wop," And she slipped her toga's shoulder strap, and displayed a fancy clock. And the fat and portly Senator bethought himself of Gaul, And when garrisoned in Egypt how he used to pay a call On a dusky amorous maiden with a houseboat on the Nile, Whose lingering caresses made Army life worth while; His thoughts went back to Britain, and he stroked a scarred chin Where an angry Celtic husband had expressed his deep chagrin. And he recalled how his upright figure and the polish his armor bore Had intrigued the Spanish maidens on that temperamental shore. And his anger soon abating, he replaced the truant strap, And she said, "Carpemus diem," as he gave her--cheek a slap; He patted the touseled curly locks, that on his shoulder lay, And thought, "She's not hors de combat, 'tis part of an Officer's Pay." -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.shore.net To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.shore.net -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.shore.net From bdragon!bawdy-owner@jjmhome.jjm.com Tue Jul 25 04:47:19 1995 Return-Path: bdragon!bawdy-owner@jjmhome.jjm.com Received: from transfer.stratus.com (transfer.stratus.com [134.111.1.10]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.6.12/8.6.4) with ESMTP id EAA14182 for ; Tue, 25 Jul 1995 04:47:18 -0700 Received: from light.jjm.com (light.hqsl.stratus.com [134.111.105.15]) by transfer.stratus.com (8.6.11/8.6.11) with ESMTP id HAA24934; Tue, 25 Jul 1995 07:47:06 -0400 Received: from jjmhome.jjm.com (root@jjmhome.jjm.com [198.114.254.1]) by light.jjm.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with ESMTP id HAA28477; Tue, 25 Jul 1995 07:47:05 -0400 Received: from bdragon.UUCP (Uxsmds@localhost) by jjmhome.jjm.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with UUCP id HAA15333; Tue, 25 Jul 1995 07:44:49 -0400 Received: by bdragon.jjm.com (0.99.950303) id AA04213; 24 Jul 95 18:18:14 -0500 Date: Mon, 24 Jul 95 10:00:55 PDT From: Barry Gold To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com Subject: Eskimo Nell Message-Id: <9507241700.AA01088@sv303.SanDiegoCA.attgis.com> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Status: RO X-Status: The version Alan Thiesen posted differs in several places from the one in my trad. But, rather than just putting mine in, I've decided to combine them, using what I consider the best parts of both. Wherever I've changed Alan's version, I marked the line with a ! at the beginning. Sometimes the ! marks a completely new line, sometimes a change as small as adding or deleting a monosyllable to make the scansion a little smoother. THE BALLAD OF ESKIMO NELL When a man grows old and his balls grow cold, and the end of his knob turns blue; ! When it's bent in the middle like a one-string fiddle, he can tell a yarn or two. So find me a seat and stand me a drink and a tale to you I'll tell Of Dead-eye Dick and Mexico Pete and the gentle Eskimo Nell. ! When Dead-eye Dick and Mexico Pete go forth in search of fun, It's usually Dick who wields the prick and Mexico Pete the gun. And when Dead-eye Dick and Mexico Pete are sore, depressed, and mad, 'Tis the cunt that usually bears the brunt, so the shooting ain't so bad. There was rarely a day without a lay, and usually two or three For Dead-eye Dick, his kingly prick was always like a tree. Now Dead-eye Dick and Mexico Pete had been hunting in Deadman's creek. And they'd had no luck in the way of a fuck for nigh on half a week. Just a moose or two and a caribou, and a bison cow or so; And for Dead-eye Dick with his kingly prick this fucking was mighty slow. So do or dare, this horny pair set out for the Rio Grande. Dead-eye Dick with his muscular prick and Pete with his gun in hand. As they rode down the trail without no tail, Pete was mad as hell For Dead-eye Dick with his mighty prick had fucked the horse as well. ! They blazed a trail of randy tail, and no man their path withstood. And many a bride who was hubby's pride knew pregnant widowhood. ! useless quatrain deleted They made the strand of the Rio Grande at the height of a blazing noon. ! And to slake their thirst and do their worst, they sought Black Mike's Saloon. They opened the doors on the men and whores, both prick and gun flashed free; "According to sex, you bleedin' wrecks, you drinks or fucks with me." Now they'd heard of the prick called Dead-eye Dick from the Horn to Panama; And with nothing worse than a muttered curse those cowhands sought the bar. The women, too, knew his playful ways, from down on the Rio Grande; And forty whores took down their drawers at Dead-eye Dick's command. The women were scared they'd all be mared. This really is no lie, For Dead-eye Dick with his mighty prick was hard to satisfy. They saw the fingers of Mexico Pete twitch on the trigger grip. 'Twas death to wait. At a fearful rate those whores began to strip. Now Dead-eye Dick was breathing quick with lecherous snorts and grunts As forty asses were bared to view, to say nothing of forty cunts. Now forty asses and forty cunts, you'll see if you use your wits And rattle a bit of arithmetic is likewise eighty tits. And eighty tits is a gladsome sight for a man with a raging stand. More may be there in Berkeley Square but not on the Rio Grande. Our dead-eye Dick, he fucks 'em quick, so he backed and took a run And he laid a dart and the nearest tart, and scored a bull in one. ! Down he bore to the sandy floor. He fucked her deep and fine And though she grinned, it put the wind up the other thirty nine. Our dead-eye Dick, he fucks 'em quick, and flinging the first aside, He was making ag'in at the second quim when the door swung open wide. And into that hall of sin and vice, into that harlot's hell, ! Strode a lusty maid who was unafraid, and her name was Eskimo Nell. (additional couplet) ! Our Dead-eye Dick who fucks 'em quick was well in twenty-two ! When Eskimo Nell let out a yell and said to him, "Hey...you!" The hefty lout, he turned about, both knob and face were red. With a single flick of his mighty prick, the tart flew o'er his head. But Eskimo Nell, she stood it well, and looked him in the eyes. With the utmost scorn, she glimpsed the horn that rose from his hairy thighs. She blew a puff from her cigarette onto his steaming knob. So utterly beat was Mexico Pete he forgot to do his job. ! It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell in accents calm and cool, "Ah, ya cunt-drunk shrimp of a Yankee pimp, you call that thing a tool? ! "If this here town can't take that down," she sneered to the cowering whores, There's one little cunt who can do that stunt. It's Eskimo Nell's, not yours." She shed her garments one by one, with an air of conscious pride 'Til at last she stood in her maidenhood and they saw the Great Divide. She laid right down on the tabletop where someone had left a glass. With a twitch of her tits, she crushed it to bits between the cheeks of her ass. She bent her knees with supple ease and opened her legs apart. With final nod to the randy sod, gave him the cue to start. But Dead-eye Dick, with his king of a prick, prepared to take his time, For a girl like this was fucking bliss, so he staged a pantomime. He winked his arse-hole in and out, and made his balls inflate Until they looked like the granite knobs on top of a garden gate. He rubbed his foreskin up and down. His knob increased in size. His mighty prick grew twice as thick and almost reached his eyes. He polished the rod with rum and gob to make it steaming hot, And to finish the job he sprinkled the knob with a cayenne pepper pot. ! He didn't back to take a run, or yet a flying leap; But bent right down and came 'long side with a steady forward creep. Then he took a sight as a gunman might along his mighty tool And shoved his lust with a dextrous thrust, firm, calculating, and cool. Have you seen the giant pistons on the mighty C.P.R.? With the punishing force of a thousand horse. You know what pistons are. Oh you think you do, but you've yet to learn the awe inspiring trick Of the work that's done on a non-stop run by a man like Dead-eye Dick. ! But Eskimo Nell was an infidel. She equalled a whole hareem ! With the strength of ten in her abdomen and a rock of ages beam. Amidships the rush, she could stand like the flush of a modern water closet. So she grasped his cock like the Chatwood lock on the National Safe Deposit. She lay for a while with a subtle smile while the grip of her cunt grew keener. And giving a sigh, she sucked him dry with the ease of a vacuum cleaner. She performed this feat in a way so neat as to set at complete defiance ! Both the primary cause and the basic laws that govern sexual science. [I'm not sure of the value of the next couplet, but I'm leaving it in.] She calmly rode through the phallic fold which for years had stood the test And the ancient laws of the classic school, in a moment or two, went West. And now, my friend, we draw to the end of this copulating epic. ! The effect on Dick was sudden and quick, and akin to an anaesthetic. ! He slipped to the floor and he knew no more -- his passions extinct ! and dead -- ! He didn't shout as his tool came out. It was worn down to a thread. ! And Mexico Pete, he sprang to his feet to avenge his pal's affront. With a fearful jolt, he drew his Colt, and rammed it up her cunt. ! He shoved it up to the trigger grip, and fired three and three. But to his surprise, she rolled her eyes and smiled in ecstasy. She leapt to her feet with a smile so sweet. "And bully," she said, "for you. ! Though I might have guessed, it's about the best you phony lechers do. "When next your friend and you intend to sally forth for fun, Buy Dead-eye Dick a sugar stick and get yourself a bun. ! "I'm going back to the frozen North, to the land where spunk is spunk ! Not a tricking stream of lukewarm cream, but a solid frozen chunk. "Back to the land where they understand what it means to fornicate. Where even the dead sleep two in a bed and infants copulate. "I'm goin' home to frozen Nome where all girls know the trade. They're taught from birth, for all they're worth, and mighty men get laid. ! "Back to the land of the mighty stand where the nights are six months long. Where the polar bear whacks off in his lair, that's where they'll sing this song. "They'll tell this tale on the arctic trail where the nights are sixty below. Where it's so damn cold, French letters are sold wrapped up in a ball of snow. [weak couplet deleted] "In the Valley of Death, with bated breath, it's there they'll sing it, too. Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle, and moldering corpses screw." [And that's a _fine_ place to end it. I suspect Alan's final couplet was added by someone other than the original author(s).] From bdragon!bawdy-owner@jjmhome.jjm.com Sun Aug 13 15:39:23 1995 Return-Path: bdragon!bawdy-owner@jjmhome.jjm.com Received: from transfer.stratus.com (transfer.stratus.com [134.111.1.10]) by mizar.usc.edu (8.6.12/8.6.4) with ESMTP id PAA05696 for ; Sun, 13 Aug 1995 15:39:21 -0700 Received: from light.jjm.com (light.hqsl.stratus.com [134.111.105.15]) by transfer.stratus.com (8.6.11/8.6.11) with ESMTP id SAA17413; Sun, 13 Aug 1995 18:39:03 -0400 Received: from jjmhome.jjm.com (root@jjmhome.jjm.com [198.114.254.1]) by light.jjm.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with ESMTP id SAA12257; Sun, 13 Aug 1995 18:39:02 -0400 Received: from bdragon.UUCP (uucp@localhost) by jjmhome.jjm.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) with UUCP id SAA08573; Sun, 13 Aug 1995 18:09:10 -0400 Received: by bdragon.jjm.com (0.99.950801) id AA05625; 13 Aug 95 12:08:18 -0500 From: Barry Gold Date: Sun, 13 Aug 95 07:44:53 PDT X-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com Subject: Casey and the Bat Message-Id: <9508131444.AA27301@sv303.SanDiegoCA.attgis.com> X-Listname: Bawdy Filking To: Multiple.recipients.of.Bawdy.Filking@jjm.com Reply-To: bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com Errors-To: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Sender: bawdy-owner@bdragon.jjm.com Status: RO X-Status: A Well, here it is at last, typed in and (I hope) proofread. Personally, I don't think it's anywhere near as good as "Eskimo Nell". But it's certainly a long, bawdy recitation. CASEY AND THE BAT Things had been extra quiet at The Mudville Bar, that night; For there hadn't been an argument, And there hadn't been a fight. The boys were leaning on the bar Having a drink or two, With nothing much to think about, And nothing much to do. They'd had a masturbation race A night or two before; They'd got a bitch and dog, last night, And bred 'em, on the floor. But now these harmless little games, Were over, through and done; And not a one of them could think Of how to have some fun. And just as Grogan muttered low; "I wish he had a whore." The damnedest bat in forty states Stood leering in the door. Her legs were bowed, her ass was broad Her waist but slightly less, Her teats (without an uplift bra) Were bigger than Mae West's. Her skirt was short, her gloves were long Her hat we'd best forget. In all your life, you've never seen A sadder sight, I'll bet. "Who wants to fuck?" this vision whined. "I only charge a buck." But several said, "We'd not fuck you At seven cents a fuck". She said, "If that's the case, may I Suggest a little bout? I've got a sawbuck here that says No man can tire me out." The crowd looked at each other, then They looked at her awhile. "I do believe she means it, boys." Said Grogan with a smile. "Of course I do," the Venus said, "I'll fuck from now til dawn." And Grogan winked, "O.K.", he said "I think we'll take you on." The bet was covered, the bat lay down And opened up her pants; "Come on," she said. "Who's gonna be The first to take a chance?" "It _is_ a chance," Pat Grogan said. "To fuck you is a sin. But I'll be first, I made the bet." And he lay and stuck it in. For seven minutes Grogan worked Before his pecker bent-- Then young Mike Shea came twice in ten In spite of good intent. And Big McGillicuddy lay Half-hour on the whore And when he rose, all limbered up, She gaily called for more. The Monohan and Hanrahan And old Mulvaney tried; And then poor Grogan tried again (Although he nearly died). And through it all, the bat lay there And squirmed and moaned and farted And ended up as gay and calm And fresh as when she started. And all the barflys muttered low At Grogan's second break; The honor of the Mudville Bar Was certainly at stake. Then Alderman O'Conner said, "The issue seems in doubt. Who will uphold our honor, men, And tire this bastard out?" And as they stood and wondered At that omnivorous womb, None other than big Casey Came striding in the room. "Ray!" cried the weakened heroes, No longer feeling sick, "Casey will surely conquer With his omnipotent prick." They quickly tell their story, Their qualms and fears all gone, And mighty Casey smiles at them And says, "I'll take her on." Said Shea, "The neighbor boys would like To see this, like as not. I say, let's have 'em hold the bout Down in Mulvaney's lot." "We will," responded Grogan, "And we won't do this like bums. I'll act as sort of umpire, to tell if each one comes." No sooner said than done, the crowd Hurried to get a place To see great Casey and the bat Commence the nookey race. There was ease in Casey's manner As he sank onto the grass, There was pride in Casey's bearing As he fiddled with her ass. And as unto the watching crowd He lightly doffed his hat, Each watcher knew that he'd come through When Casey fucked the bat. Two hundred eyes were on him As his balls dragged in the dirt, A hundred tongues applauded As he wiped them on her skirt. And now he sinks between her thighs And now he grins a grin, And the crowd all grins in sympathy As Casey sticks it in. He gets his hands around her ass And starts to bearing down, She twines her legs around his thighs And starts to go to town. And minute after minute passed And still they reared and bucked, And pitched and tossed, and rocked and rolled, And fucked, and fucked, and fucked. Till presently her movements sped But Casey's seemed to slow. He had the look of someone who Is just about to 'blow'. She gave a sudden thrilling twist. The dirty deed was done! "Hot damn!" said Casey soulfully, And the umpire said, "Strike one." "Fake," cried the maddened watchers, And echo answered, "Fake." But Casey pulled his penis out And gave the thing a shake. And as the watchers saw it drip A drop of pearly dew, Their cries died out in silence For they knew that it was true. But Casey lay right down again, To go right back to work. "There's plenty more where that came from," Said Casey with a smirk. Then stern he looks down at the bat And, sterner, at them all. And proud, he looks down at his prick, Which never droops at all. He lies back down upon the bat, He breathes a sigh and then, He spits upon his prick for luck. And sticks it in again. This time he didn't work so fast And Coyne was heard to say: "Can this be caution, do ye think?" "'Tis wisdom, man," said Shea. But his slow and steady movements Didn't seem to please the femme; For she started in to working at 1000 R.P.M. There didn't seem a single trick That woman didn't know. She twisted up and twisted down And twisted to and fro. Tell Casey, after quite a while Grunted a dreadful grunt, And rammed his pecker, fast and hard Into her grasping cunt. He pulled it out, and sheepishly He wiped its dripping head. "I guess I come," said Casey, and "Strike two!" the umpire said. The crowd was silent, filled with awe, And then they gave a groan. "I don't believe she's human," There were many heard to moan. But Casey, still magnanimous, Lifted a warning hand. "I'll win," he said, "But, Holy Mike! She fucks to beat the band." Again he sticks his penis in, Again he starts to poke, And for half an hour or more Keeps up a steady stroke. But every time he brings it down The bat comes up to meet him. And all the crowd is tense and taut For fear that she will beat him. And Casey feels his feelings rise And strains to keep from coming. And as for her, she gaily works, And damn it all, she's humming. And now his face gets redder as He tries to hold it back. He mutters as his penis hard, Slips in and out her crack. And now he strains, and tries to stop, And now he lets it go. And now her womb is shattered By the force of Casey's 'blow'. Oh, somewhere in this favored land The folks are getting rich. And maybe Hitler's still alive The God-damned son-of-a-bitch! And somewhere little boys fuck girls Without a care or doubt. But there is gloom in Mudville; Mighty Casey has struck out. -- Bawdy Mailing List To post to the list, send a message to bawdy-l@bdragon.jjm.com To (un)sub-scribe, send a message to listserv@bdragon.jjm.com -- |Gateway: Black Dragon Inn |GateOp: root@bdragon.jjm.com