A Greyhound bus in the first stages
Of its lonely journey from Lost Wages
Roared along, in the darkness, alone
When doo dee doo doo: Twilight Zone!
Suddenly a blinding light
Stabbed brightly through the black of night,
And a tractor beam, quickety zip,
Put the bus in the hold of an alien ship.
The driver was first to stagger out.
He stood on the deck and looked about.
"I think I'm sane, but I don't know.
Is this what I think? A UFO?"
"Just so," a booming voice replied.
"We picked you up; you're safe inside.
No doubt you wonder what we're going to do.
Fear not, no harm will come to you.
"We only want to ask some questions,
Then make you forget, post-hypnotic suggestions.
It's best you cooperate; do not balk,
For, of course, we have ways to make you talk."
"Hey, Skipper, what's up?" said a scrawny man.
The voice seemed startled: "You're Gilligan!"
"Sure, the professor, Mary, and Ginger, too,
but tell me, Voice, who are you?"
"Extraterrestrials, you know, ET.
We've been watching you on your TV.
We have learned a lot, but one question vexes.
What, exactly, goes on between your sexes?"
Mary answered: "Nothing, on TV.
We stay as chaste as chaste can be.
Men and women don't touch, you see.
It's all because of the FCC."
"Ah, yes," said Voice, "It's as you say,
When the children are at home to play,
But on the soaps and late at night
It's altogether a different sight.
"Men and women take their clothes off and
Hop into bed for a 'one night stand'
Or grope and kiss and say 'I love you'.
What is love? What do they do?
"What do they do under the sheets?
All that shows is hands and feets.
He kisses her and makes her moan.
They grapple; they pant; they grunt; they groan.
But what, I ask, do they actually do?
There's always a sheet that we can't see through.
Or they only show the topmost bits"
"That's right, on TV you can't show tits."
The professor had spoken, a bit drunk was he.
"They're prudes, you see, those who watch TV.
They want the thrill of sex, illicit,
But you can't really show it or be explicit."
"Yes, Professor, it seems absurd.
We have not even learned the word
Which is used to describe the human act
of making children. That's a fact."
"The word," said the prof.,"there's not just one
To describe the act and how it is done.
There are more words than I can count:
To bang, to screw, to swive, to mount.
"Rogering and making love,
Dipping the wick in the velvet glove,
To ball, to hump, to bump, to grind,
To cover, to tup, to dock, and you'll find
"Hide the sausage, cure the horn,
Have a hot roll with cream from dusk 'til morn.
To shag, to jig, to spear the bearded clam,
An expert on sex, that's what I am."
"Really, Professor, I never knew,"
Squealed Ginger. "Would you like to screw?
We could give these aliens an education
In the art of fornication."
"Ginger, my dear, I thought you'd never ask.
To ball you will be a most pleasant task.
But, first, some firky toodling, I say.
Perhaps some muff diving, by way of foreplay.
"Cunnilingus, is the proper word,
But it's eating a furburger with your common bird.
Of course, Ginger's not a common whore.
She knows what her cunny's for."
"And she knows Cockney. A Berksire hunt
Is rhyming slang for a running cunt
Her beaver, box, gash, vagina,
Her rosebush, garden, could not be finah."
"You're right, Prof.," Ginger said.
"Show these ETs how to give head.
Tongue me, lick me, whistle in the dark.
Pretend we're in the back seat at your favorite place to park."
"Ginger, before I lick your bottomless pit
Let me get a sniff of it,
And get a look at your Bristol cities.
That's rhyming slang for gorgeous titties."
"Of course, dear prof., at your behest
I'll gladly bare my beauteous chest,
My tits, my teats, my nipples, my bust,
My upholstery, my cleaveage, my charms for your lust.
"I'll shuck off my dress and show you as well
The region churchmen call the gate of hell
My crotch, my biter, my gash, my slit,
The home of the man in a boat; that's my clit.
"My bell, my button, sugared almond, my dot,
The thing that I play with to make myself hot.
I'll also display my own Khyber Pass,
My buns, my buttocks, my beautiful ass.
"My rump, my bum, my derriere, my schwanz,
The cheeks that you'd fondle, if we were to dance.
My bottom anatomy is as good as the top
But if you start to play you must promise not to stop.
"I'm a hot-blooded wench, a filly that's foxy,
A hussy, a nymph, a tart and a doxy,
A pro., through and through, which is to say,
When men get to fuck me, I make them pay.
"Much as I'd like to stick you, my honey,
Coming from Vegas, I'm a bit short of money."
The voice interrupted: "For your demonstration
We will gladly provide financial compensation."
"You're on! I'll screw her," exclaimed the prof,
"Ginger, get naked, get nude, take it off.
I'll plank you and shank you for this alien population
To demonstrate, to remonstrate, human copulation."
"I always suspected, professor, my dear,
That your sexual tastes were a little bit queer.
Just to make sure you're not all drunken bravado,
Let me see first your -- ahem -- avocado."
"That's Aztec for testicle, you treacherous slut.
I'll show you my stones, my pills, rocks, and nut.
My gullions and billiards, my goolies, my cod
my cobblers, my balls, and my cock, too, by God.
"I'll show you my flute, my tool, sword, and dick,
My weapon, my wally, my penis, my prick,
My rod, my stud; there's nothing wrong
With my wonker, my pud, my gun, my dong.
"My John Thomas, my staff, stands tall, stiff, and slick
Erect and tumescent: lickety split, let's turn a trick.
Give me a chance, and I'll use my thing
Like a violin bow to make your cunt sing.
"It stands at attention, for your inspection.
Then I'll give you a treatment, a meat injection.
It knows just how to make you so hot,
And it knows how to wriggle and get your G-spot."
"How delightful, professor, I'm dilated to meet you."
"At your cervix, Madame. Please let me seat you
Here on my lap, you may sit on my pole,
And I'll suck your sweet titties, while I fill up your hole."
The professor and Ginger stripped down for action
And fucked on the floor as the feature attraction.
Sitting and standing, behind and before,
Ginger was screaming, "Oh, Prof., give me more!"
He fell down on top, in the missionary position.
He got behind her for doggie-style coition.
They entwined impossibly, like the Yin and the Yang,
And he stuffed her muff strongly, 'till he wore out his wang.
"I'm sorry, Ginger, I can't do much more."
"That's OK, professor. I'm one worn out whore.
You really know how to ring my chimes.
You made me come, gosh, countless times."
"Thank you, Ginger, it's been quite a treat
To go to heaven with a red-head in heat."
He reached for his cigarettes. "After sex, do you smoke?"
"I don't know, professoer, but I'll look. That's a joke."
The skipper (the bus driver), would have loved to have tried
To put his turgid tool into Ginger's inside,
But he had, instead, to beat his own meat.
He used five-finger Mary, 'till he jacked-off on his feet.
The sight of the three of them, in action salacious,
Enticed sweet Mary to also be gracious
And allow young Gilligan, must not forget him,
To gently finger her virginal quim.
"Be careful, Gilligan, and don't get too merry.
Enjoy yourself, but don't pop my cherry.
You may finger me gently, until I am spent,
But don't get me pregnant, don't make me enciente.
"I'm saving it for marriage; I'm engaged to a surgeon,
And dear, sweet Dr. Arnold wants me a virgin.
He wants me with my maidenhead; that is a fact.
He'll check out my hymen to make sure I'm intact.
"But, golly, Gilligan, I'm hot, and I'll do
Anything else. If you'd like to screw
Me in the rectum, and get your rocks off that way
I can stay a virgin and still be a good lay."
"I'll say, Mary, your ass is real cute.
Get down on your knees and I'll fuck your poop chute."
He stuffed her back channel until, with a spasm
He filled her with cum, as he had his orgasm.
"Gee, Gilligan," said Mary, "that was real fun,
But I didn't come, and so you are not done.
She lay on her back with her knees in the air
And told him to lick her, "down there."
"Mary, you really are some swell dish,
But your pubes have a smell like not-quite-fresh fish."
"That's passion, you smell, you masculine beast.
They call what your doing, 'eating a kipper feast.'"
"A kipper's a herring that's been nicely smoked
Some girls smell that way when they need to be poked."
In spite of the smell, he licked hard and deep.
Mary moaned and shuddered and then fell asleep.
That's how the aliens finally got to know
What TV producers try not to show,
How humans do, privately, some things in a bed,
And they learned lots of words that can't politely be said.
When they'd absorbed all that they had been showed,
They put the bus back on the interstate road.
The passengers slept with contented smiles
As the Greyhound bus ate up the miles.
A funny thing, when dawn came, and day
And the bus rolled at last into L.A.,
Forgetful they were, they'd forgotten it all,
Even though, in the ship, they'd all had a ball.
Mary only remembered that she had been sleeping
And couldn't explain why semen was seeping
Out of her asshole. She wondered why.
How could it be wet while her dress was dry?
Gilligan, the professor, too,
Smelled as if they'd toured the zoo.
They could not remember who
Had smeared their private parts with goo.
The Skipper thought something was wrong
As he drove and rubbed his limp dong.
Usually, he'd want to shoot a load
After so long on the road.
But the Skipper did not mind.
In fact, he was surprized to find
That jism on his shoe had spattered.
Well, it often did. It hardly mattered.
Ginger, she of the golden twat,
Was pleased with the payment she had got.
She couldn't remember who she'd laid,
But it only mattered that she'd been paid.
So, dear reader, you will not see
Another Headline, "UFO Abductee!"
They won't be back, for now they know
How humans make a fetus grow.
(There is no intention to violate copyrights, and any resemblance to actual characters, living,
dead, or proprietary, is coincidental or in a satirical context)
