This thread was around for a while
And though it contained much good vile
It just was not the same
Until into it came
The poster known as Southern Style 
Let’s hear a big hip hip hooray,
If you think I’ve had too much to say.
Well here is your chance,
You can get up and dance,
I’ll be gone till the next business day.
When next I’m gainfully employed
You can be certain I’ll avoid
Power mavens in suits
who ambush new recruits
And I’ll always maintain my sang-froid.
Where you work, IzzyR, must be grand.
With your keyboard they give you free hand.
The limericks you write
are both witty and bright
and you do so without reprimand.
A gay double agent named Fawcett
Spurned panties, the bra, and the cawcett.
He said, “No drag for me!
I just want to be
The Spy Who Came Out Of The Closet.”
An old man from cold Montreal
Had reason to moan and to bawl.
He exclaimed, “Hostie d’crisse!
I was taking a piss,
and it’s frozen me fast to the wall!”
On Montreal mayor Pierre Bourque, who wants to amalgamate several suburbs with Montreal proper:
Mayor Bourque has got ants in his pants.
He wants to see his city advance
Till it goes all the way
Out to far Hudson Bay
And the metro’s connected to France.
There was a young girl from Vancouver,
Who when told it was not “horses doover”,
Found she hadn’t the nerve
To ask for hors d’œuvres,
So had soup as a saving maneuver.
Thanks Joey. What do you want for helping me?
Four faggots consented to meet
To share oral sex in the street.
Soixante-neuf was impractical,
So the only thing tactical
Was something like cent-trente-huit.
There was a young girl from Connecticut
Who went out in only her pecticut,
Which the neighbours did find
Showed her presence of mind,
But deplorable absense of ecticut.
A fabulous fruiter named Durst
Found that beatings made life just a curse,
So when he ventured hence,
He assured his defense
With a dildo he kept in his purse.
The fire in my loins had been stirred
By the sight of the young Mr. Hurd,
So I gathered my pluck,
And inquired, “Do you fuck?”
He said “Yes, but please don’t use that word.”
A fag by the name of Calhoun
Took a lesbian up to his room.
They argued all night
Over who had the right
To do what and with which and to whom.
These originals, though rough-hewn and crass,
Oft make me roll and laugh off my ass.
But please let’s refrain
From those cliches (oh, pain!):
Dave, Nantucket, and balls of brass.
An accident really uncanny
Befell a respectable Granny
She sat down in a chair
While her false teeth were there
And bit herself right in the fanny
What does not kill me, says Nietzche
Makes me strong. (oh, that is just peachy)
So I won’t take a peak
For a whole goddamn week
But at least I’ll be at the beachy.
It’s true, folks…I’m off to Myrtle Beach, SC…see y’all next Saturday.
Peace,
TN*hippie
There was a young poet of Winnipeg,
Who swiftly departed from Winnipeg,
He moved to Thetford Mines,
With which everything rhymes,
Whereas nothing at all rhymes with Winnipeg.
How do you sing a song about Iowa?
The name doesn’t rhyme with anything except my, oh wha-
T a state of beauty,
A state of grace,
And here is a song in its praice.
There once was a limericist* named Matt
who pulled zillions of them from his hat.
Asked “How do you do it”
Said “I simply intuit
a touch of profane with eclat.”
(*I think I made up this word)
A limerick monger named Matt
Said, “Yes, they flood out of my hat,
But that’s just the bag
Of a horny young fag.
It’s got nothing to do with eclat.”
The S&M Bar, oh my dears,
Is a place to get stomped on, for queers.
You’ll be beaten and sat on
And pissed on and shat on -
The thrill of your gayest young years!
With her beau a young lady named Mary
Arranged up the back way to tarry.
She said, “I’ve got a strap-on,
So let’s make it happ-on,
And find what’s such fun for a fairy.”
Esprix (not Espricks) said one day,
“I insist it be said the right way.
I will not move to France,
But to la belle province,”
To which matt_mcl said, quote, “Yay.”
A Gay Guy named Esprix found ways
To come north for a dopefest, and gaze
Upon matt_mcl,
Who took him home, and - well -
They haven’t been seen in five days.
That bitchy queen, matt_mcl, said,
“Esprix, get your ass in my bed!
How long must you tarry?
Either fuck me now, Mary,
Or I’ll come on to Hastur instead.”