C’mon, gang, give it your best shot. No oldie moldies or something you just snatched from a toilet stall. Think for yourselves! It doesn’t have to be good or anything.
So give us the fruit of your brain,
Be it profound or profane.
No guy from Nantucket,
Nor gal with a bucket:
Just original, however inane.
Limericks that my interest pique
Are sexual, punful, or unique.
For a glowing critique
Add witty mystique
But don’t try to rhyme words like risque.
A lady complained of how often
Men would hard-sell her into a boffin’:
“They talk big and tough
And start out too rough
But what hurts is how quickly they soften.”
Peace,
TN*hippie
A doper was up late
Trying to figure the date
His computer fell to bits
Fell right through his mits
And with that he sealed his fate.
TN*hippie, you make a good case
For us to post limericks to this place.
I’ll give it a go
Just so I can show
I can make one with the phrase, “All your base…”
This thread won’t cause us to fuss
Even if we decide we should cuss
Unless I should haze
with the following phrase:
All your base are belong to us.
I was once in a battle of wits with a friend of mine over the net. I won with this piece:
There once was a fellow named Beasley
Who’s dick was bedraggeled and measley
He’d get so frustrated
Every time he masturbated
'Cause he couldn’t get wood very eas’ly
Because onto chique’s thread I did click
on the subject of the lowly Wood Tick
My whole body now itches
with tics and twitches.
The thought of these beasts makes me frantic.
Though you might say they’re cousins of mine—:eek:/
Eight legs are not always divine -----------------------///\
The repulsive features
of these loathsome creatures
send shivers up my spine.
Your limericks all would be neater
If you paid more attention to meter.
Your poems need rhythm
To go along with 'em
If you do, then I swear to be sweeter.
If we’re going to have a good time
Then into this thread I must chime
If lim’ricks you’d write
Don’t stay up all night
Going on and on and trampling all over the rhythm just to get to the rhyme.
No hard feelings, I hope.
Of limericks, Chief Troy reads the clean,
Not the real ones, the dirty and mean,
Where the rhyme is a crime,
And the meter ain’t neater,
And the rules-braking gets so obscene.
I like my metrics just swell,
But the limerick is meant to be hell
On the nitpicker’s mind,
But if you’re so inclined
You might as well write villanelles.
I have to agree with Chef Troy.
Bad rhythm can really annoy.
I’ll take catchy meter
O’er cute rhymes with peter,
But I like puns that make me say “Oy!”
With iambs and dactyls I’m cozy,
I know every gimmick in posey,
But when I’m lim’ricking
The rules take a licking
And them what don’t like it can blows me.
If meter’s your game, then doggone it,
Skip lim’ricks and write us a sonnet,
But these weren’t invented
To be anal retented,
Unless you’ve got bees in your bonnet.
At least this is better than haiku
Where it’s, `Five-seven-five, it’ll do!’
Oh, sure it’s got swing,
But if scansion’s your thing
Then it’s my rime royal thread for you.
A gal whose love interest was rising
Opined 'bout the beau she was prizing:
“His drawl from the South
Has affected his mouth,
So he takes a long time oralizing!”
A lesbian couple felt ducky;
Upon the state line they got plucky.
Their lips met, you see,
While in Tennessee
And also the state of Kentucky.
Lascivious conduct ensued
Between a queer fellow named Jude,
and Masai, Greeks, Papuans,
Poles, Scots, Czechs, and Nauruans,
As he liked international food.
A strapping young lad named Horatio
Was quite practiced at autofellatio,
So he got a dot.com,
Sold his own cd-rom,
And through webcam presented a pay show.
Fagbashing MP Pastor Stock
Leads his party like it was his flock;
But each night for a switch
He’s Svend Robinson’s bitch,
And these pics I’ve got are sure to shock.
A time-traveling jerk-off named Trent
Was nulled by his self-loving bent:
In an orgasmic twitch
He hit the wrong switch
And came at the same time he went.
A preacher named Jim in Miami
Was caught playing secretarial slammy
He put his dong
where it didn’t belong
When he should have been home jammin’ Tammy
(see “Weird…gross…nuts” posted by Sue D.)
That fellow has incredible gall
To write about sex with a dol.
He did it to warp us
And did it on porpoise,
That lover of the merrytime ball.
groan!
Nicely done…
There was an ex-president Bill
Who was constantly seeking a thrill
He met a young intern
His loins how they did burn
And Monica then got her fill
The hooker’s policy ne’er swerved;
A visit cannot be reserved.
So stand in the queue
Till she gives the cue;
The rule is: first come, first served.
You may think that it’s kind of dumb;
That it should be: first served, first come.
But she first turns the trickies
That are known to be quickies,
Thus the line moves faster, by gum!