Sister Anne to her God is not nigher,
Since baring, for all to admire,
Her organs of sex to see,
Writhing in ecstasy,
Plunging two fingers in higher!
Author: admin
Mortification of the flesh
For a brother consigned to a mission,
The Pope may allow some coition,
With good christian men,
Or with girls, now and then
In the specified boring position.
What are the odds?
Though she loudly proclaimed it a miracle,
Those of us more, say, empirical
Never believed
She had chastely conceived:
She was just a damned slut, and hystirical!
Way to go
Sing the praises of sexual martyrs!
Take Patrick the Purple for starters:
While licking the loins
Of a nun, and their joins,
He was strangled to death in her garters.
Pitch imperfect
From the Church of the Blessed Saint Joan,
There was heard most distinctly a moan,
Which, to judge from the pitch,
Meant some blasphemous bitch
Would have plenty for which to atone!
Chosen
Said poor Mary, “It’s dubious honour,
This being the holy madonna:
What sort of a life
For a good Jewish wife,
To have God-knows-whose child thrust upon her!”
Sabbath stroll
On a Sunday in March, Bishop Fry
No-one knows but the Lord perhaps, why,
Was observed in the Strand
With his dick in his hand,
Mumbling “What a good fellow am I!”
Flesh
A young priest, his vows woefully fresh,
Once succombed to the sin of the flesh,
When there came to confess
A young girl in short dress,
Frilly knickers and stockings of mesh.
Vatican roulette
Though the Vatican’s way is expedient,
Lust is the missing ingredient:
Sex by appointment’s
A sad disappointment
For those who’ve been all month obedient.
Oh brother!
A young fellow, enrolled in Divinity,
Talks about God and infinity,
Late, though, at night
He seeks carnal delight;
A great sin and, what’s more, consanguinity!