Ted: Hey, Barney. I got a little poem for you. You want to hear it?
Barney: No, not really.
Ted: 'twas the night before, I had hours to kill. I sat in the tavern, grading parchments with quill.
Barney: With quill?
Ted: Barney, it's a poem. A busty, young lassie flashed me a grin. Her garb said "classy," but her eyes whispered "sin." She said, "You're a teacher?" I said, "Yes, indeed." "I must have you," she moaned, "I'm turned on by tweed." With haste we did scamper to my chamber anon. We fell to the couch, and, bro, it was on. I unlaced her bodice. Our passions grew deeper. And thus ends the tale of the sexless innkeeper.
Barney: No way. You made that up.
[A blonde woman comes out of Ted's bedroom]
Woman: Are you coming back bed, professor?