Gentlemen, give this some thought:
Bedroom manners aren’t for naught.
So if lovemaking’s messy
Be a good chap, ye see:
Always offer to sleep on the wet spot.
Spiders are expert, it’s said
in flitting from thread to thread.
The former was cumbersome,
the posts way too numbersome.
I’ll weave my webs here instead.
Good morning… I couldn’t restrain myself any longer:D!
To the other, long thread I have been,
Although at this craft I am quite green,
Alas, I am infected,
And I must stay connected
Until someone creates a vaccine!!
–Tabithina
Though tempted to sit back and lurk,
My duty as poster I’d shirk,
For I’m at a loss,
the nerve of my boss,
He actually wants me to work!
too long was that other thread
so you started this one instead
I’ll go with that
cause these limericks are phat
but… dammit here we go again.
lat
stat
brat
tat
cat
rat
that
mat
er…
scat
dammit
dammit
dammit
It’s hard when you post just from work,
(It sometimes can drive you berserk).
Each time I retaste,
What I’ve tossed off in haste,
I discover another small quirk.
There once was a limerick fanatic
Who sat up late nights in the attic
And refined what he wrote
Polished each anecdote
But posted from work in a panic
(I too have a boss, but he’s too busy to watch me :))
There once was a writer of lore
Who fancied the elegant whore
He’d ask for a dance
And subtle Romance
Instead of hard sex on the floor
A collection of shirkers are we
Spending time posting such poetry
As we hope that the boss
Doesn’t notice the loss
From our lack of productivity.
Now I see that the words I employed
In my rhyme were already deployed
By our dear Southern friend
Whom I’m loathe to offend
So I hope that he isn’t annoyed
(Someone has to bring it up…)
The first person to bring up feltching,
While simultaneously belching,
Will lose my respect,
for his dialect,
Suggests on a bet he is welching.
My boss as omniscient is boast,
When he claims his knowledge is most,
For when he’s away,
the dopers do play,
It’s when my limericks do post.
More have succumbed to temptation
of posting at this new location.
Their rhymes are so amusing
I hope they keep using
paid hours with no retaliation.
I have a small edge, it’s true.
For all of my posts, like you
Are posted from work
But there is no jerk
Of a boss telling me what to do!
'Tis time to go home for the night,
A feeling that’s certainly right,
For working all day,
the bills it will pay,
But playing all night sure seems right.
While playing tonight I just might,
Begin the festive with a bite,
Then onto my lair,
where I brush back her hair,
And reveal the fair sight that’s so tight.
There once was a liar named Al
Who said to all men ‘I’m your pal’
While he took lots of dough
From Big Corps, don’t you know
He insists to be lifting moral
There once was a fellow named Bush
Who called a reporter a tush
Against him a strike -
He didn’t notice the mike
And now he must be all hush hush
During each election year
Candidates say what we want to hear
But once we’ve selected
and they are elected
it seems that they turn a deaf ear.
The limerick’s an art form quite keen
Though the lyrics are often obscene.
But of this I am critical:
All subjects political,
Be they Republican, Democratic, or Green.
It is often said in conversation
if you wish to avoid confrontation
from religion refrain
and politics abstain
so as not to create conflagration.
In days of yore it was a need
when free speech was not guaranteed
to save their heads and homes
people ranted in poems
from tyranny they wished to be freed.
It’s our fortune in this current time
not to need riddles or rhymes
but with the limerick
there’s no sacred topic
as long as your versing is prime.
I offer an election year credo,
To satisfy our need, though
This promise is right,
please avoid the sight,
Of Al Gore wearing a Speedo.
If of politicians you’re sick,
I’ve discovered a neat little trick.
Be a real smarty
And join a third Party
For a true nation democratic.
Election year banter is evil,
With spewers akin to the weevil,
A flip of the switch,
Stops the son of a bitch,
Except perhaps Evil Knievel.