HASSAN AND PHATIMA

Tired of girls that can’t stand,
Without parted legs,
A swayed hip, a shoved behind,
Or dangling poops see-sawing,
All the way to the waiting ground,
And yet some more who,
Like the ancient Khyber Pass,
Welcomed armies of horny men,
Night and day and day and night,
Marching freely in and out,
Hassan, the merchant of the bazaar,
One morning told his mum,
“The wife I want is a maiden,
Who knows nothing about sex,
More virginal than a nun,
She may know she has a hole,
But she wouldn’t know what is it for,
So go out there and find me one.”

Hassan had a simple test,
In the privacy of parents’ house,
He takes it out and asks the girl,
“What is it that’s in my hand?”
If she knows it is time to leave,
And move to test the next one.

The search went longer than he thought,
The girls were pretty and polite,
Educated and well mannered,
But they knew the name on sight,
The stock of girls was exhausted,
And so was the mum who “Son,” She said,
“I’ve done all I can,
Maybe the girl you’re seeking
Can only be found in Pakistan,
Their girls are prettier than angels,
And they are chaste and truly kind.”

By sheer luck or high design,
On a grim day the sky smiled,
The one and only Phatima,
Passed the test successfully,
And was finally found.

On their tenth anniversary,
Hassan decided to come clean,
“Listen wife,” he said one evening,
“The time has come for you to know,
The tool I use in making love,
Is not the one you call “the heinous”,
For it has a name that’s worthy of respect:
“The Penis”.

Phatima gasped and covered her eyes,
Shocked beyond belief,
Again and again it was inspected,
In total disbelief,
With pouted lips, she shook her head,
“No, dear husband, it is not,”
“But if you want me to call that instead,
I will, but yourself shouldn’t kid,
The shortest penis I’ve seen,
Was twice as long,
In the dark the one unseen,
Was truly an angry beast,
It felt inside twice as big,
At least.”

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