Yes, Size Does

Mary had a fiancee she called him Jack the Ripper, because the fellow liked to play all day with his own zipper. When Mary found that it was not the zipper he admired, Jack searched all day for the small tot until he grew too tired. He held a magnifying glass inside and lit his Zippo, but all he did was burn his ass and still there was no hippo. Jack's grandma had instilled in him that he would grow a beaver, his brother, just a trifle dim had married in a fever. His brother's wife had come at night and reached beneath the covers, she thought it might be quite alright if they became two lovers. Jack did wake up and asked the ghost might you be freezing cold, he would, he said, play perfect host and do as he was told. She slipped inside the featherbed and both were wide awake. When suddenly young Jacko said let's please play patty-cake. It would, he knew keep arm and hand and muscles in condition, the girl then left, I understand, she failed in this, her mission. Next night the spiel repeated, true and Jack had thought a little, had sought advice from his own crew and soon he noticed spittle, which ran down from his double chin and landed on his chest, one party did expect a pin to find the proper nest. Soon both were sweating in pursuit but it was like Houdini, it might have been quite stout and cute and not a little wienie. At four Am, she left again her hair and gown in tatters, a beaver may not grow on men, but it is size that matters.