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He’s Not Bashful About It

Let me tell the tale

Of the dwarf defined as Doc.

He was a man with paultry poultry

(Which is to say a tiny cock).

He’d be off to work each morning

With a high-ho and a pick

And he’d strike at stones much harder

Than his diminutive dwarven dick.

A princess came to stay with him

Despite her inhibitions.

Three days later she ate poison

Rather than stay in such conditions.

His beard is limp. His head is bald.

His eyes are beige and lumpy.

Since I’ve run out of insults

I’ll end the poem here. Love, Grumpy.

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Filed under Poems