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(Sing to the tune of “The Beverly Hillbillies”)

Well, dere once was a story ’bout a man named Bill;
Da poor president couldn’t keep his willie still;
Den one day he was workin’ at his desk,
When in walks Monica and shows da boy her chest …

Boobs, that is. Two of ‘em. Bodacious ta ta’s.

Well da next thing ya know, Monica is on her knees,
Mouth open wide and as happy as you please;
Bill sez, “oh yeah now-don’t say a thing.”
“If you do a good job then we’ll have a little fling.”

Blow job that is, Phalli osculation.

Well, Bill lost his load and it fell upon her dress,
He said, “Clean it up, ‘cuz you really are a mess,
And you’re invited here to dis fine locality,
To have a heapin’ helpin’ of little Willie C.”

Da wiener, that is. Da presidential
staff.

So week after week, Monica is on her knees,
Keepin’ Willie and his weiner just as happy as you please,
But then she figured out dat the fling had gone too far,
And she blabbed it all to Linda Tripp who blabbed it all to Starr.

Bad girl, that is. Cigars, bodacious ta ta’s.

Well it weren’t too long till we all knew the score,
’bout da stuff dat went down behind da oval office door;
Da country’s in da toilet and da people cry, “No More”
But if we oust da cheatin’ jerk, den we gotta live with Gore.

Boob, that is. Great big one. Head stuck up his rear.

So now ya know da story ’bout Bill our president.
Wonderin’ if dis fling’s gonna cost him every cent;
So da moral of da story is to do it quietly,
And stay outta trouble with dat bitch named Hillary.

The Devil told the lawyer, “I have a proposition for you. You can win every case you try for the rest of your life. Your clients will adore you, your colleagues will stand in awe of you, and you will make embarrassing sums of money. All I want in exchange is your soul, your wife’s soul, and the souls of your children.”

The lawyer thought about this for a moment, then asked, “So, what’s the catch?”

Five-year-old Timmy is playing with scissors in nursery, and he cuts himself. He rushes to the teacher.

“Miss, miss! I’ve cut my hand! I need some cider, miss!”

“Cider?!” cries the teacher, horrified, “Why on Earth do you want that, Timmy?”

“Well,” explains the boy, “my big sister says that whenever she gets a prick in her hand she puts it in cider.”

Seriously, I would really appreciate your most heartless, darkest jokes. I'm in a funk. Help me out here ... One (relatively mild) example (you can do better!): "What did the little boy with no arms or legs get for Christmas?" "Cancer."

_{-- Deliv}