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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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Or places all covered in snow
In Boston they dumped some fine tea
In December, Seventeen-Sev'nty-Three
Out into the bay
Without a tea tray
It tasted just like weak gnat's pee
My hairdresser chatters away (Softers) The strong stuff is OK. Tangy.
About how he's overtly gay
He's into high camp
His wig curled - like a vamp
And he thinks he's the Queen of the May
If it weren't for the mould on the ceiling
I would not have this strange, awkward feeling
That I am about
To be left without
Anywhere that is not damp and peeling.
Each weekend I pursue my hobby
And please, do not think I am snobby
I ride with the hunt
Ride a fine Oxford punt
I'm a toff - and I'm also quite gobby
The dribble that runs down my chin
Gives clues to the state I am in
If frothy it means

(See comments for a line 4 and 5 that jumped out on me)

I've had lunch - Ham and beans [S M] Keep on jumping!
And if not, then I've been at the gin.
I once knew a man from Macau
So yellow - but man - could he bow
But his pale jaundiced skin
And his body so thin
Meant he died - so no bowing for now
Now it's time to prepare for the end !
All the portents and signs that way tend!
Armageddon is nigh
So the soothsayers sigh
You've been posted, alas, to Southend.
The incredible edible egg!
Gives a lift, gives a hand, gives a leg,
Does not give a shit
If Beluga - it's a hit!
And it fits in so well with my keg! (beer-keg that is!)
I'm obliged to point out it's a fact
That dogs who sniff crotches lack tact
But one's pheromones
(The pong of your stones)
Won't stop them - they're caught in the act.
There once was a stone that was wet
In Workington that I would bet Not funny for the residents, I do pity them
It stood all alone
In a No Parking zone
And no-one has dried it off yet
I tried to install a new light
To make my front porch much more bright
But the fuse I did blow
So the light didn't glow
Will I live through this dark, dark, dark night?
I've survived, I'm awake, I'm alive,
Thanks to my sparky mate Clive
I owe him a fiver
As he was the driver
Who drove through the farmers beehive.
Impossible as it may sound
I'm floating three feet off the ground
My odd levitation
Defies explanation
(A bean-propelled jetpack I've found!)
So let's praise the virtues of flatus Jokes about old farts will be treated with caustic soda.
At least let us make a conatus
Strike an ode to one's gas
Which will come to pass
All hail to that which doth deflate us
"The problem," she said, "with your face,
Is your nose is in the wrong place."
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