I am a wonderful help to women, The hope of something to come. I harm no citizen except my slayer. Rooted I stand on a high bed. I am shaggy below. Sometimes the beautiful peasant’s daughter, an eager-armed, Proud woman grabs my body, Rushes my red skin, holds me hard, Claims my head. The curly-haired Woman who catches me fast will feel Our meeting. Her eye will be wet.
Lucrezia Borgia invited a prospective victim to lunch. They ate a hearty meal of roast venison, with a selection of fresh vegetables, all washed down with the finest wine imported from Bordeaux, France.
After the meal, they ate figs and freshly picked grapes.
“Just one apple left”, said Lucrezia, “I insist you have it.
“No”, said the guest, “I couldn’t”.
“Tell you what”, said Lucrezia, “we’ll share it”, and promptly sliced the apple in two with her sharpest knife. The guest and Lucrezia started to eat their respective halves when the guest’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling and he fell over, dead.
“Another victim successfully dispatched,” thought Lucrezia.
A group of ten people are going out for pizza but only two of them have an umbrella to keep them dry. Somehow they are able to walk all the way to the pizza place without getting wet. How?