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Ted Mosby: What the hell is "The Sexless Innkeeper"?Barney Stinson: Ted, many a man- nay, many a soul has their own tale of the sexless innkeeper. Why, I had run-in with one just last year. I even composed a poem about it. Would you care to hear it?Ted Mosby: Not really.Barney Stinson: [continues with no pause] T'was the night before new year's, And the weather grew mean. It was 3:00 in the morning, And I was stranded in Queens. The tavern grew empty, The gas lights grew dim. The horse-drawn carriages were all but snowed in...Ted Mosby: [interrupts] Wait. If this was last year, why are you acting like it was Oliver Twist?Barney Stinson: [disgusted] Ted, it's a poem.Barney Stinson: Last call was approaching, And my fortunes looked bleak. Then I turned to my left And stifled a shriek. She had a peach fuzz beard And weighed 16 stone. She gobbled up hot wings And swallowed the bones. I muffled a scream And threw up in my mouth. I asked, "where do you live?" And she said, "one block south." I swallowed my pride And six shots of whiskey. And prayed to the gods That she wasn't too frisky. Back in her cave, she prepared us a snack. 'neath her mighty hooves, the floorboards did crack. But when she returned, She found a sound sleeper. And thus she became The sexless innkeeper.Barney Stinson: And so are you!

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