handjob hank

from when he was in the incubator

Li’l Hank was a serial masturbator

hours in the crib were happily spent

turning his bed sheet into a tent

he’d welcome the nurses with a poke

and gurgle with glee like it were a joke

but think not that he was a lonely child

for his time alone was indeed quite wild

you could say he was a naughty elf

who just liked to keep to himself

And as the hallways echoed with his moan

Handjob Hank, he thus came to be known

and as he practiced week after week

he honed and handcrafted his technique

he started with a gentle spurt on the floor

then graduated to shoot it out of the door

next he learnt to come in acrobatic loops

and in single file like marching war troops

sometimes he’d bring out a long sperm snake

sometimes enough to fill a small lake

and even when his pecker-pistol fired a blank

it was just a matter of one more wank

and for half an hour’s worth of happy trouble

he could easily ejaculate a shiny jizz bubble

aye, like a wizard with two magic wands

there was real sorcery in his hands

then one day he jerked off so hard

that his semen coagulated into lard

“Eww, what could be worse?” should you utter

Handjob Hank used it – as cooking butter.

ram cobain

the weeper reaper

Death knocked on the geriatric’s door and said

By this time now you should have long been dead

By this time I’ve harvested a hundred thousand souls

A paltry few saints and countless assholes

I’ve worked through the week and also 24x7

Balanced the blighted books between hell and heaven

I’ve seen sure rains fail and blue skies cry

I’ve watched liars be honest and good men lie

I’ve seen terrorists be loud and governments be quiet

I’ve watched obese men binge and thin women diet

I’ve seen inflation go up and morality take a tumble

I’ve watched the poor be happy and rich men grumble

Aye I’ve seen dinosaurs born and seen them disappear

With nary one Neanderthal to shed them one tear

But your case laughs at my resume, a leery rictus grin

Like on a baby’s soft bottom, a roiling rusty pin

For now I’m at the end of my tether, and all that I ask

Is that I may please fulfill this long-promised task

You asked me for one last wish so many moons ago

But how was I to know…you piddle so slow?

ram cobain

a grave solution

the corpse woke up with a raging hard on

and found that his left hand was gone

for between happy chomps and hearty chews

malignant maggots had munched it through

he grimaced and turned to the other side

and promptly wished he’d again had died

for the fingers that were to be on his right

was similarly and sadly out of sight

oh how he cursed the wretched worms

pondered passionately about his surfeit sperm

throbbing and tense, thus did he mull

till a grin soon spread across his skull

for he realized that within these coffined walls

what he lacked in limb he made up in balls

and so with a flippant toss and a flirty lob
he detached his head for a self blow job.

ram cobain

musick

 

not everyone is gifted; born with a beat

with a whiskey throat or a larynx sweet

not all of us can strum the guitar

stroll up on stage, become rock star

yes, most of us can’t time the drums

or join mid-verse and begin to hum

aye we can’t even try to hold a tune

grab a mike and dare to croon

but fret not dearie – there’s good news

(for happiness comes to those who choose)

so what if you aren’t born with a musical ear

there are rhythms aplenty in your rear

note, the rectum comes with a hole to fart

a DIY design that turns biology to art

so poke in a finger the next time you toot

and hallelujah become the Human Flute.

ram cobain

oh gawd!

there was once this wily old hag

who grabbed at a lad’s scrotum bag

said: “Do the fucketty-fuck with me

I’ll squeeze out a yes if ye disagree.”

the boy replied: “Ouch, granny, you’re so sick

shouldn’t you be holding a rosary instead of dick?”

she smiled: “Why don’t ye make me scream for god

with thy balls of steel and thy iron rod?”

saying thus she tightened her grip

wet her legs and also her lips

and so the lad said his own prayer

dropped his jeans and another layer

shut his mind and closed his eyes

got it up doggedly after 17 tries
she giggled: “I’m not thy sister, hold me close

haven’t ye heard of the missionary pose?”

and so the lad did as he was told

while the hag she rollicked and rolled

till finally she screamed out sweet Jesus

and came roaring with fluid and feces

and just as the sod thought the worst was up

she reached below and again she cupped

panted: “True the lord may treat me unkind

but meanwhile I want ye in my behind.”

ram cobain

a dick of a tale

here beneath this marble stone
lies a man whose penis still groans

for his is the pecker that knew no fail

but then this isn’t your ordinary tale

though he was born your regular boy

who played his wee-wee like a happy toy

he first saw the glimmer of heaven

when he was but a child of seven

he alarmed his family in the room

when he grabbed it like it were a broom

ma whhhat’s this, he croaked a stammer

as he flashed his thing as hard as a hammer

Richard you dirty dog, she loudly gasped

as she spotted what his fingers clasped

and thus from a moment of innocent shame

firmed up this story of inglorious fame

y’see she’d scared him into a tight rod

that made nannies faint with an oh-my-gawd

and though negroes dared as black as coal

none could match the steel of his pole

it barged and burst out of his pants

like an iron file of marching ants

the worst was when he had to pee

t’was like unzipping an old oak tree

he tried dipping it in burning hot oil

anything to make it shock and recoil

next he dreamed of ugly naked hags

but still his pagan pillar never did sag

It stayed frozen through blizzard and twister

and grinned back at him ‘Howdy Mister?’

years passed on in this lurid way

his pubes turning from black to grey

but even though his skin grew old

the warmth in his loins never went cold

days thus passed till one day he died

after 78 long hours of masturbation tried

thus he went, though he still never came

his shaft staying stoic just the same

and when they lowered him into his grave

it peeked-a-boo and seemed to wave

thus in respect – and the name did stick

they changed his epitaph from Richard to Dick

ram cobain