Sourpuss

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‘Top a lemon tree, twiddling the stem,

Of her ripening, sweet, juicy gem,

Clementine decked her-

-Self in sticky nectar,

And christened it “Crème de la Clem”.

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Hitherto had the hamlet suspected Clem

Of lewd conduct with citrus in Bethlehem,

But their slurs, she averted,

And tartly asserted,

“When life gives you lemons, have sex with them.”

lemonfinger

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Dwalin & Monche

Dwalin stood dwarven, deformed and grotesque,

Ever-bent by a hard, hamstrung hunch,

Driven mad by implacable lust for burlesque,

And a one-eyed, French flapper named Monche.

The myopic madam, not without her charms,

Bore a glass eye, white, rheumy and still,

That reflected light onto her pustuled arms,

Which she proudly would rupture at will.

“Money up front, mon amour, s’il vous plaît,”

Hissed her voice through a phlegm-laced veneer,

Smiling sweetly, her scabby tongue slithered its way

Into that which remained of his ear.

If their passion affected the business, although,

 The burlesque house was not apt to gauge,

For most just presumed it was part of the show,

As they generally fucked on the stage.