I'll read you my one dirty poem.
It's called "Courtship."
It's not really dirty, unless the truth is dirty.
I don't know.
I hate to make such remarks.
It's not-- it's really irrelevant.
I used to think one of the ways in which a man got
a woman's confidence was by telling her
he really wasn't a man.
[CHUCKLING]
That's why I never got married until I was 94.
Forget that.
This is a poem called "Courtship."
There is a girl you like so you tell her your penis is big,
but that you cannot get yourself to use it.
Its demands are ridiculous, you say.
Even self-defeating.
But to be honored somehow, briefly,
inconspicuously in the dark.
When she closes her eyes in horror, you take it all back.
You tell her you're almost a girl
yourself and can understand why she is shocked.
When she is about to walk away, you
tell her you have no penis, that you
don't know what got into you.
[LAUGHTER]
You get on your knees.
She suddenly bends down to kiss your shoulder
and you know you're on the right track.
[LAUGHTER]
You tell her you want to bear children
and that is why you seem confused.
You wrinkle your brow and curse the day you were born.
She tries to calm you, but you lose control.
You reach for her panties and beg forgiveness as you do.
She squirms and you howl like a wolf.
Your craving seems monumental.
You know will have her.
Taken by storm, she is the girl you will marry.
[APPLAUSE]
When you clap, you implicate yourselves.