Now here is Beth,
holding a nine-inch
crescent wrench
behind her back, ...
for any customer
who gets out of line.
On the job two weeks
and already driven
to whacking rowdies
and loudmouths who
might start a fight.
Just down the road,
Millersville College offers
courses in psychopathology.
That's the way to meet
four-eyed pimple-faced
coeds with sagging
breasts who cook well.
Now Beth is a bird
of another feather:
all leather-fringed
and bell-bottomed.
With a reassuring touch,
she might be able
to ignite Bilbo's cock.
That would make her
the first ever to launch
Irving Bottombarrel Bilbo
into full coital orbit.
Now the beauty of
Tenderlad Jones,
on the other hand,
lay in his knack for
fending off young chippies.
With a crackle of his
fine-lined, rumpled eyes.
Those naive, smokey blue eyes
could make stone lips
on a statue quiver.
But at bar-closing time,
Tenderlad Jones
strides out the door
contemplating only a night
of girlie pix and hand jobs,
self-administered.
Twixt Tenderlad's dawdling
and Irv's incapacity ...
Long-Legs Stoltzfuss
sidles up, and it's he
who nails Beth Barmaid!
Oh! What a comic
farce they weave, ...
when each jerk hopes
he might achieve:
Nirvana in Beth's
hot wrap-arounds!
If you're scoring,
it was Stoltzfuss
who put the pedal
to the Barmaid's metal!
Bilbo, the latent Ambisexual
and Tenderlad Jones,
the unawares Androgen
were "no-shows".
But who knows?
Jones might, some day,
enter Bilbo's void...
and stroke morasses
that would tickle Freud.
Good Luck, Bilbo.
Bonne Chance, Bilbo.
Dream on, Bilbo!