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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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Yep, it won't be a redeemer
My Mercedes-Benz went into flames
And came out to roaring acclaims
With scarcely a scorch
Of its paint to debauch
Those Teutonically engineered frames.
I tried putting wheels on my yacht
And this is as far as I've got:
Just two to the port
From a pram? The same sort
High-tech this solution is NOT.
The V8 that powers the pram
Runs on butane, palm oil and jam
The noise that it makes
ENSURES BABY WAKES
Hidden textFOR PITY'S SAKE EITHER TURN IT OFF OR FIT A SILENCER! MY EARS ARE BLEEDING!
And sounds like a dithyramb.
My restored '69 Thunderbird
Drinks gas at a rate quite absurd
It acceleration
Provokes deglaciation
– I'd not even known that was a word
The good folk of Walton-on-Thames
Are addicted to brûléeing crèmes
And once it's been brûled
This middle-class food
Requires many trips to the gyms.
Bzzt-twang! Rhyme only works in South Africa.
The gits of Newcastle-on-Tyne
Go on benders with Carlsberg and wine
They stop all their diets
Cause mayhem and riots
– By regional standards they're fine.
In order to preserve my sanity
I cultivate o'erweening vanity
As I go through the day
I hope and I pray
For an overall drop in inanity
I find talk of weather profound [Simons] Lovely last lines for the previous two...
Deep in a flood, I'll be bound
This dire cyclonicity
And damp synchronicity
Confuses my poor little hound.
If you want to bamboozle a dog
Just dress him like Jacob Rees Mogg
In top had and tails
With manicured nails
And not keep going to the bog.
When Corona was just a drink
And the world was not yet on the brink
We thought it a lark
To have fun in the dark
Social distance at zero (*wink wink*)
In a cupboard, while playing "Sardines"
I wished I'd not eaten baked beans Nice pay-off, CdM
My flatulence there
Was too much to bear
And I melted a hole in my jeans
There's a trick to op'ning canned beer
For one thing, wear the right gear
Take dagger and cloak
Give it a good poke
And watch it spray far and near
In these times of foreboding and gloom
I'm simply not leaving my room
So if you want to cheer me
Without standing near me
Facetime me so I can zoom
I've just heard that Boris is sick
I hope his recovery's quick
To founder and fail
But keep out of jail
Is a very Pfeffelian trick
Once was, that all roads led to Rome
But now, we must all stay at home
And not wipe our arses
Through government farces
So please don't be tempted to roam
The peak of infection is past
And though working from home is a blast
Does nobody know
Just where I might go
Sorry, those days are past.
It's got to be time for a brew
But please don't let it stew
When infusing the leaves
I'll tell you what peeves
Not knowing where each of them grew
Hidden textSocial Distancing provides opportunity for such ponderings
Home alone. I've searched - there's no other
Those bed socks belong to my mother
And the knocks in the walls
And the plaster that falls
On me is such a bother
Relaxing the rules just a little
A lot wouldn't do, but a bit'll
Think it's all over
And visit their lover Shakespearian Rules declared
What'll then hit the fan? Oh, the shit'll.
Thanks for the excellent development of an admittedly difficult start!
Outside there's a godawful smell
In my own personal circle of Hell
I've searched high and low
I reck'n it's the po
But my nose is so clogged I can't tell
I've gathering the wood and the wool
Sounds like a load of old bull
In fact, a young cow
In the here'n'now
Says I'm too high to be cool.
Do nothing, until there's a Plan
Don't plan, until there's a Man
No Man? Get a monkey
Then all will be hunky-
Dory, like Dominic Cummings's scam
I'm really fed right up to here
I'll do something reckless, I fear
I'll put on my socks! [Daring enough for ya, ya pussies? I'm so hardcore I may even put them on the wrong feet.]
Cue-up "Cleveland Rocks!"     The Ian Hunter original
Fu*k it, I'll just have a beer
My socks are marked left and right
This is so I can find them at night
The marks are in Braille
They pong, so exhale
But this cannot be mine - far too tight
I'm back from a very long trip
To Woking's municipal tip
Where I hunted in vain
For Boris's brain
In the vain hope he might get a grip
I feel like an animal theme for a bit. Can we have some animals?

There is much to be said of the Moth

But I'd much rather speak of the Sloth     
Hidden textHi, Jack!
Or a simple wombat
Or a Sumatran Rat
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