The limerick’s oft misunderstood:
It’s a beast neither evil nor good.
It can be vulgar or tame,
Quite witty or lame,
But it always rhymes well (or should).
Gotta share my favourite:
There was a young girl from Ryde
Who ate a green apple and died.
The apple fermented
Inside the lamented,
And made cider inside her insides.
I just got home from a concert that was hot!
Widespread Panic, and I liked it a lot.
Loud music they were bringing
My ears are still ringing
And my clothes smell like cigarettes and pot.
A monkey sprang down from a tree
And angrily cursed Charles D.
“I’ll hold with the Bible”,
He said, “It’s a libel
to suggest man’s related to me.”
Said an ape as he swung from his tail
To his children both female and male:
“From your offspring, my dears
In a very few years
May evolve a professor at Yale.”
To ITR champion:
Now those were examples delightful:
Both amusing and rather insightful.
It takes a good wit
To avoid words like “shit,”
And be vivid without being frightful.
It should go without being said
That I’m already loving this thread.
So here’s one last try
To move it up high…
That done, I shall now crawl in bed.
The limerick’s returned in fine fettle.
I’ll add one not quite up to mettle.
My intent’s to amuse
with the words that I choose
but often they just merely nettle.
TN*hippie’s returned to the fray
and invited us all here to play.
So come armed with verbosity
to increase the velocity
of this thread, with bad jokes and cliches.
----:p/ x o x o x
----///\\
In the past some suggested a theme.
I’ve come up with a possible scheme:
thumbnail rhymes of your most
favorite posters who post
of the SDMB millions that teem.
I’ll add a few at a time
as my poor brain comes up with each rhyme
with kindness of wit
we’ll not land in the pit
with our poems, more ridiculous than sublime.
Libertarian returned as of late
with meticulous style of debate
though sometimes his views
occasion barbecues
with great thinkers, that’s often their fate.
Zenster’s a Renaissance man
of his kindness and style I’m a fan.
The threads he creates
amuse and educate
his talents and interests widely span.
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.”
A bluenosed old prude of St. Kitts
Said, “When speaking of delicate bits,
One must be discreet,
And not use such street
Slang as cock, cunt, arse, bollocks, and tits.”
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!”
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.
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.
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.
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.”
A linguist known as Ari Khedive
In a manner just subtly indicative
Asked a lady named Grace
To come up to his place
To discuss his bilabial fricative.
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.”
*Bolding tags restored
[Edited by UncleBeer on 04-28-2001 at 04:01 PM]
Happy Saturday, matt_mcl!
your rhyming adds much to the swell.
Your limericks profuse
never cease to amuse
while your outrageous tales you tell.
----:)/ x o x o x
----///\\
If you tire of all this inanity
And don’t suffer too much from vanity,
I suggest that you head
To the pollysyllabic thread.
But I warn you: hold on to your sanity!
There was a girl who was able,
to do naughty things in the stable,
the farmer caught sight,
and was given a fright,
he hung himself with two yards of cable.
I oft dreamt of being a nun,
In the service of Father and Son.
Til I went to college,
And gained other knowledge;
Though I’m still on my knees,
Now it’s fun!
Spider Woman had a great notion
That we write of things fraught with emotion:
Each other, precisely;
If possible, nicely.
I’ll try not to cause a commotion.
matt__ has the gift of verbosity
And hurls with astounding velocity
Poems violent and sexual
With an air intellectual
And sharp wit that borders pomposity.
Creaky posts a humorous whopper.
However, the structure’s improper.
But content beats style
And it made me smile
To think of showing devotion atop 'er.
A poster, much loved and sincere,
and whose kindness the teemings revere
for compassion and care
is our own purplebear
whose warmth never fails to endear.
Lovely coincidence, I declare!
I just came from a thread of the bear
And left all refreshed–
My heart still enmeshed
In good vibes of which I must stay aware.
Which brings up another fine topic:
How my actions are often myopic.
While bogged down in reality
I lose spirituality;
Good intentions become microscopic.