Fw: THE OUTHOUSE POEM

[Guest guest]

Doubt if any of you are familiar with an ole " outhouse " .

-----Subject: Fw: THE OUTHOUSE POEM

THE OUTHOUSE POEM

Some of you " youngsters " may not be able to relate to this....read it all the way through.THE OUTHOUSE POEMThe service station trade was slowThe owner sat around,With sharpened knife and cedar stickPiled shavings on the ground.No modern facilities had they,The log across the rillLed to a shack, marked His and HersThat sat against the hill. " Where is the ladies restroom, sir? " The owner leaning back,Said not a word but whittled on,And nodded toward the shack.With quickened step she entered thereBut only stayed a minute,Until she screamed, just like a snakeOr spider might be in it.With startled look and beet red faceShe bounded through the door,And headed quickly for the carJust like three gals before.She missed the foot log - jumped the streamThe owner gave a shout,As her silk stockings, down at her kneesCaught on a sassafras sprout.She tripped and fell - got up, and thenIn obvious disgust,Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,And faded in the dust.Of course we all desired to knowWhat made the gals all doThe things they did, and then we foundThe whittling owner knew.A speaking system he'd devisedTo make the thing complete,He tied a speaker on the wallBeneath the toilet seat.He'd wait until the gals got setAnd then the devilish tike,Would stop his whittling long enough,To speak into the mike.And as she sat, a voice belowStruck terror, fright and fear, " Will you please use the other hole,We're painting under here! "