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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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Is to check that I'm still not quite dead
The result of this test
Along with the rest
Makes me feel that I'm still newlywed...
Have you noticed Spring is on its way
Well it's early - come when it's May
No, come now, I'm frozen
Vests by the do-zen
Just who led this winter astray? mercy killing
You must always make sure you are right
When walking The High Line at night
Should you lose your direction
Just ask a policeman
Hidden textNo one seems to want Pablo's offered rhyme so fuck it
Who'll tell you "Hey Mac, take a hike"
My cat is a fearsome ratter
And eats other animal matter
Disgusting? I'll say!
Please take it away
To a place where old cats are made flatter... ;-)
If you're aiming to get a flat belly
Give up Coke, burgers, beer, and the telly
And go for a run
Don't eat that bun
Though I think you can binge-out on jelly
A cynic who lived in a jar
Hidden text https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diogenes
Smoked Capstan Untipped (they're high tar)
Drank unfiltered beer
But what's more severe
Drove a Volkswagen diesel-fueled car.
laffed out loud. Well done everyone
This reprobate jar-living bloke
Ridiculed orthodox folk (Juxt) I thought Dodgynees was a retired footballer
Alexander the Great
Was the butt of his hate
Since the rich are all scum when you're broke (Rosie) You're thinking of Soccertes
[Juxtapose] Soccertees handled the merchandise.
All those years that I spent learning Greek
On my way to be Monk Dominique
Have tired my poor brain
But yet, then again
Cézanne was a bit of a freak
I have here a pint of best porter
With which I shall do what I oughter
Just sink it in one
And when it's all gone
I will pee at least one foam-topped quarter.
One Gallon of beer is enough
To serve all the guests at my trough
But a pint don't go far
It's well below par (Marc, penult.) See a doctor.
Red Barrel; t'would make a saint gruff
"It's Real Ale™ or nowt!" cried the lad
"Joost like it was for me Dad"
No Watney's Red Barrel
No flashy apparel
But e-cigs By't dozen, By Gad!
One pint IPA if you'd please (Rosie, I ment a quart of a gallon as I hope everyone else understood)
Three packs of crisps (onion and cheese)
This feast for the senses
Removes one's defences
'Gainst multiple Sky Sports TV's
There once was a lady from Surrey I have a great fondness for the classical forms
Who, determined to supper on curry
Took a flight out to Delhi
Made the air e'en more smelly (Juxt) Yeah, trad is best. BTW all women in Surrey are ladies and generally rather expensive. I live in Surrey, the rough end.
Got Delhi belly and left in a hurry
I sticks to me good old pork pies
Baked into a sandwich, with fries
Add ketchup, to taste
And thus I'm never faced
As I make them in double full-size...
The answer to most of life's ills
Is contained in this bottle of pills
With a tamper-proof lid
And the price is ten quid
Just remember me in your wills.
I tell you, there's nowt wrong with me
Except for the pain when I pee
But a wee bit of chemo
Plus doses of Nemo
Will fill me with glee when I wee-wee
I'm driving sans DC and A
Stevie, to get into the spirit of this a bit, what's DC&A? C&A I know about...
When the British police feel they have a case to be made against someone for a traffic violation involving a collision of the putative defendent's vehicle with another or a piece of public or private property, the catch-all summons that can be relied upon to result in a conviction when, say, driving while impaired or dangerous driving are unlikely to be provable to either a judge or a jury of the defendent's peers, is Driving Without Due Care and Attention, which is demonstrably true since driving with due care and attention would preclude crashing into things, and is referred to by the rozzers writing out the citations as "Without DC & A".

Stevie - I'm driving sans DC and A
And you'd better get out of the way
My foot's to the floor
And I'll tell you what's more
This time I'm gonna make hay.
My car is a late model Ford
But I wanted a '32 Cord
But the grille, what a mess
Was defect, more or less
So come back when you've had it restored.
Whilst combing my hair I was shocked
'cause the 'thing' in the mirror it talked
It said back to me
"You're not real, don't you see?"
"That just now, reality forked?"
He was born by the side of the sea
Though which side we'll just have to see
On this side of the pond
It's clear there's a bond
'Tween Donald and PM May, T.
There once was a piper from Kent
Whose youth had been gravely misspent
With billiards and booze
And the odd drunken snooze
None of which he had tried to prevent
My Dad was a sensible fellow
With a deep voice and rather loud bellow
He'd keep me in check
By grabbing my neck
And force me to leave the bordello
Each day when I get out of bed
And see I'm alive, and not dead
I shout "Yay! I'm still here!"
Drink six pints of beer
And ask if I'm really still wed.
In a cave in the high Himalayas
It's mild - you can shed a few layers
And the bonze that sits there
Has really no fear
For the Yeti they've named Zacharias.
I hail from the island of Crete
Where minotaurs roam in the street (It's a little known fact.)
No prisoners they take
Though it is piece of cake
As large bull-heads are easy to beat (Marc: eh?)
My family all come from Malta
Impossible, sadly, to alter
But once they got here
With their Cisk Lager beer   (Nice to see you, pen, nice).
My CAMRA credentials did falter
I'm a product, alas, of suburbia
Not the outback of deepest Australia
I mow my lawn weekly [Dujon - pushing that one a bit..]
With my mower uniquely
Designed in a way to disturb ya.
I'm afraid that we've run out of ink
And that's much much much worse than you think
The pen yields to the sword
Which cannot be ignored
So we're now pretty much all down the sink
I've got a strange longing for pigeon [muttleee] Hello!
At the same time discarding religion
I'll just get the cat
And a grim scabby rat
And stuff them all into a widgeon.
When given a fecund first line [Tuj] Hello! Feels like I've never been away...
We'll fec it up in record time [And the cheesecake man's back as well, at Dan's, along with a gaggle of aunties of questionable authenticity.]
With approximate rhyming
And dubious timing [muttleee] Well, you've still got all your vowels, you must be in good health
By our standards, that'll do fine!
They've invented both Twitter and Mail
Though some thinks they're just a fairytale
The virtual world
Into which we've been hurled
Is surely now destined to fail [Tuj] The best. :-)
Our grim fate comes nearer each day
So frolic, get bladdered, make hay
You only live once!
So let's do as the Huns,
And start a rumbustious affray
Here's my friend, Attila the Hun
Who's frisky and so full of fun
When he's out with his horde
Putting folk to the sword
Then downs the odd mead when he's done
I took a short break down in Devon
Which compared with Dunoon is nigh heaven
Here I met little Sue,
Who was from Dunoon too
And stood at just four foot eleven
The painting that hangs on the wall A blank canvas for you folks
Is by that bloke whatcher'm'call
He didn't paint many
To sell at a penny
It's that famous Batiste de Saint Paul!
That Lisa's a bit of a Mona
Though she gives me a bit of a boner
Her wee mystic smile
Filled with Botox off style
Has beguiled for as long as I've known 'er
While pruning my roses today
At first cut my left thumb went away
I stuck it back on
But the feeling had gone
I've now heard it'll come back in May
Dear sir! That's your dick not your thumb,
No it isn't. You think I do nude rose pruning? You think it's prehensile? You think I can't tell the difference?
The good folk of Dwygyfylchi maybe not
Examine your left index finger
Make sure that it's not a ringer
Now point it like this
And make sure you don't miss
(Good advice for an opera singer.)
I was singing the part of "Otello"
I admit, it was more like a bellow
But I hit every note
With a bray like a goat
Or the sound of a mistreated cello.
After two pints of beer you pee three
After three pints of pee you feel free
So let it all out!
Mild, bitter or stout
If outdoors, at the base of a tree.
In this bottle, there is some shampoo
Which was made by a relative, who
Blended kangaroo milk
In a vat made of silk oblig.
But it has made my hair look quite new
I wash my toupée with this soap
On days when I feel I can't cope
When I glue it back on
(Yes, I know it's a con)
It has shrunk so I look like the Pope...
In Pope-Look-Alike contests, I suck
Some gobstoppers, to bring me good luck
The judges, however
See through my endeavour
But give me some points for sheer pluck
As she silently slunk down the stairs [p,S,R,B,P] Oh, nice!
She took me quite unawares
From behind my back
She launched her attack
Now I'll never produce any heirs Ouch
But she did try to make some amends
And restore me as nature intends
By a surgical trick
She re-lit my wick
My candle now burns at both ends
By Jove it has been a long time
Since wordplay I've seen so sublime (Softers) Dirty bugger
Take care of the metre
Do not be a cheater
And accomplish both reason and rhyme.
Catherine wheels, sparklers galore
Are really a bit of a bore
Petrol's more fun
So get ready to run
As it reaches the dynamite store
A parcel, marked "Use at own risk"
Contained a fork and a whisk
So into the bin
Went my old theremin
Along with its old floppy disc.
Now look what's arrived in the mail
An ad for Kentucky Fried Snail
Their delicious fast food
Considered quite crude
Except by those who quaff ale.
I'm guessing Kentucky Fried Snail is slow food . . .
Christmas is coming, deep joy
Let's piss from The Old Man of Hoy
In the teeth of a gale
Drink buckets of ale
Just like they do down in Fowey.
Has Christmas gone yet, oh God please?
It has left me right down on my knees
Let's finish the wine
And take down the pine
Then sail once again the seven seas.... See you next year...
Are you sure that you know how it works?
It seems to be moving in jerks
It jumps and it sputters
Built by complete nutters
But watch how its huge big end twerks!
If you have a case of the trots
A Samsonite case will hold lots
Or a big plastic bag
But it sounds like a drag
(This verse has been written by bots)
It's better as ink when it's runny
But my goodness! It smells rather funny
I detect faecal notes
And the entrails of goats
I'll flush it all down the dunny invoking Oz slang
Now hearken ye all, MC types,
Ye must cease to use Pampers wet wipes
They clog up the drains
As they clean up your stains [oblig.}
And no-one likes unblocking pipes.
The sewers, in heat of the summer,
Smell like John Selwyn Gummer
As autumn begins
It's the Eagle twins
All in all, a bit of a bummer
I've sawn a bit off of a Beemer
It now can't keep up with a steamer
If I stick it back on
Is the guarantee gone?
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
Or the Wampa ice creature from Hoth
I can't see the point of a bunny
They're 'hoppy' and I prefer 'runny'
But hoppy beer's great
So here's Bunny's fate
Stewed in Guinness, with onions, and honey.
The purpose of hedgehogs is clear [Simons] We can have a catalogue of limericks justifying British fauna if you want
They have excellent taste in good beer
They just lap it up
From a saucer or cup
Curl up and just disappear
The haggis, a curious beast
Turns dinner into a feast
with offal and bran
Yourrr auld Scottish gran
Will make it all rise with some yeast
You can see by the cut of his jib
That he clearly will not ad lib
Those "Fnarrs"! and those "Errrs"
"In the script!" he avers
"To say otherwise is a fib"
You can tell by the look in her eye
That the lady is ever so shy
She's sweet and demure
But her mind is manure the light linen duster coat, ta
You would think she was born in a sty.
You could say she was destined to fly
(Even though, manifestly, you lie)
She seems to have wings
And other nice things
But too great a liking for pie (Sigh) It's like the sad tale of Mavis the Fairy all over again.
(Only with pie rather than cake.)

If cake is your bag, just look here
It is gluten-free, have no fear
And there's zero lactose
Sugar free, I 'spose Tricky rhyme, there
And a glass of no-alcohol beer.
My hair grows ever longer
Surely a glow worm?
My hair grows ever longer
But falls out just as fast
I'll beat upon the conga
Until I breathe my last.

(Superman) 'Kinell. It is, isn't it.
My hair seems to grow ever longer
But my body just doesn't get stronger
So, Sampson I'm not
And Delilah is rot
Can it get any wronger?
I like to eat spinach with jam  
Hidden textNot really
Far better than Marmite with spam
Hidden textUrk!
But jellied eel mousse
Hidden textGetting grosser here . . . )
Just makes the bowel loose
Hidden textSo they say
I'm a slave to my guts, that I am.
But I love strawberry jam with my cheese
'Tis a consumation sure to please
But not ev'rybody
is Passamaquoddy
Who eat it while shooting the breeze.
I shot at the breeze and I missed
And the breeze is now royally pissed
"I'll blow your house down"
It said, with a frown
Til I asked it to kindly desist
My arrow is caught in a tree
And my grapeshot has not made it free
My petard is hoist
My powder is moist
And my peashooter - it lacks a pea.
*applause*
That should be exhibited immediately in the showcase game.
The thunder is getting quite near
I'd better finish off my beer
For this heat and this weather
Ruffle many a feather
With a large bolt of lightning, I fear
Hat off. Another winner
Ye Gods! What a bang! That was close!
It made me yell, "Great Caesar's Ghost!"
But try not to fret
It's not over yet
You've still got to butter the toast
The smell of hot crumpet with butter
Will cause a curmudgeon to mutter
"How gruntled I feel!" Resisting the temptation to put "gruntled" at the end of the line.
"This is not quite a meal"
But the prospect still makes my heart flutter
Cream cheese on a bagel is better
Though I much prefer to use feta
While some like ricotta
I think that you oughta
Feed that lot to the nearest red setter (The weirdest dog breed I've ever come across.)
A strange dog, you see, is the Puli
Think Dougal (though not so unruly)
And the magical thing
Is one gets them to sing
By kicking them in the left goolie.
Demonstration event at Crufts
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