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Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Professor Harlot

Starry-eyed, wine-plied Professor Harlot
Conducts her class in the campus car lot
As an educator, she's rated "not hot"
Can't even deliver an occasional bon mot.

She pretends that she's smart
But she's really a tart
Who knows nothing of art
And does not have a heart.

Her stature is small--just her tales are tall
No one believes she modeled at all
If you answer her whining, puerile call
You'll be the one who'll be taking the fall.

Just when you think you're having a ball
And surrender to her in total thrall
That is the moment she'll make you crawl
All the way down the proverbial hall.

All the while you're listening to rot
She is crying; her tears you must blot
She'll tell your wife that you're awesome a lot
And when your caught, you'll sleep on the cot.

The professor continues the classes she taught
You look in the car lot; you're sorry you fought
She hands you your grades; you're more than distraught
F--no stars!
Worse by far than the day you were caught.

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