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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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Once you've covered your arse with a shawl.
Sensibilities are easily shaken
Like when offering the Rabbi some bacon
Or when having to put up with this rhythmically inappropriate heap of steaming ordure. Free-form limericks, anyone?
[Monica and Beck] Please don't worry, Headmaster Rosie may sound a bit peevish now and then. What is meant is probably that you should try to follow the established Limerick rules that you may find here: http://poetry-please.tripod.com/id5.html
For instance:
Your senses are easily shaken
When offering the Rabbi some bacon
Or step someones toes
With lines you compose
For the Mick is easily taken
My mellifluous contra-bassoon
Is best played up on the moon
Where the absence of air
[Rosie] - not getting much sex? I understood this was a recreational activity you sad repressed mare.
[monica (any relation to Monica?)] Like all recreational activities, limericks and sex are both better when done right.
Prevent blowjobs beware ;-)
And ends not a moment too soon
When mixing hot air and stale gas
It is all about volume not mass Yankee pronunciation invoked...
So just wave your fan (irach) Same as Britpron. Even Ian Paisley says mass.
And follow the plan
Outlined in your chemistry class
On Mondays its back to the job
We’ll struggle to make a few bob
So play wi' t'computer
and search for a suita-
-ble way to escape the dull mob. [Kim] Well played.
There was a young fellow whose ears (Kim, Raak) V good.
Would attract derision and jeers
Yet Camilla, his wife
Cut them off with her knife (Oh no, not Camilla??)
And now they're hereditary peers
While planning a trip from Heathrow [Chalks] Bravo!
I thought "Tube". Give it a go
But a dim adolescent
Set light to the Crescent -- WE know what that means ..
And now the whole place gonna blow!
In Cairo the alleys are narrrow
Down which the marchers from Jarrow
Filed one at a time
Off-course for the Tyne
It's a far cry from fish and stuffed marrow
According to George Bernard Shaw
the content of Newton's first law
Was known to the Greeks
To need a few tweaks
Or it stayed where it was, on the floor.
All sailors get wet when they sail
Most whalers will wail when they whale
But anglers who angle
And their maggots they dangle
Will spin to us all a tall tale
A seller of second-hand wigs
Had his stock nicked by one Ronnie Biggs
This infamous blagger
An outrageous swagger
Swapped the lot for a handful of figs
A gourmand who loves parboiled quince
Presented his tart to the Prince
The Prince found her willing
For the price of one shilling
To sit on his face ever since (shame on you guys!)
A nun who was chaste and devout
Thought one day she'd find out
That her promise to God
Was remarkably odd
So she decided to put it about
There once was a redheaded blonde
Who dyed froggies pink in a pond
She claimed that this hue
Would improve their virtue
But they still burped and crapped - she'd been conned.
If we live ‘til we die we get old
Unless we live backwards, I'm told
The path of time's arrow
Is both straight and narrow
So how long 'til I get paroled?
I've not passed this way for a while
And my path is now blocked by a stile
But my Right Of Way
Will ensure that I may
Walk along any road with a smile
I play a dead parrot in skits
And try imitate how it sits
The nails in my feet
Will help to complete
the impression it's all done by twits
A young lady from Burton-on-Trent
Had a figure that seemed heaven-sent
But closer inspection
Revealed imperfection
By then, though, I'd come and she'd spent.
The dreams that she wove in her loom
Were threads of both despair and gloom
But a streak of pure gold
Her future foretold
Once she'd promised the first from her womb
The tiger had vertical stripes
So he bought some nice baby wipes
After a scrub and a rub
Applied to her cub
The stripes turned to spots of three types
It's never too late to give up
Trying to housebreak your pup
So don't let it sit
and just widdle and spit
But the Brummies would say you were tup
The morning of Mr. Magellan
Was spent with Roddy Llewellyn
And this disparate pair
Hunted Lionel Blair
To what end I am leery of tellin'
Driving in ovals is daring
To go topless on beaches is baring
But diving with sharks
When completely starks
Will wake people up, keep'em staring.
Whatever you like is a sin
From sex to a bottle of gin
But a nice cup of tea
Spiked with pure THC (tetrahydocannabinol, that is...)
Makes Hamish and Dougal just grin.
All's good in true moderation
Excess may cause botheration
But a bit here and there
And a pint everywhere
May help to prevent constipation
There's little that's new anymore
We've seen all this stuff once before
The Cycle of Being
Can have one agreeing
That reincarnation's a bore.
There's a man who lives right on our street Well done on that last one, everyone.
Who is said to possess two left feet
His dual sinisterity
And absent dexterity
is a hoot when his two left knees meet
My efforts to drain the Black Sea
Were quite abysmal, you see.
From Romania's edge
I started to dredge
But global warming now does it for free
Today at a quarter to three
I'll have honey for afternoon tea
And then - should I risk it?
A raw egg; just whisk it Yuk.
Then ask her to lap-dance with me
I stare out the window all day
I just want to go out to play
My red vuvuzela
For Nelson Mandela
'Cos he's no musician, they say.
My cursor has turned big and white
And the rest of the screen's black as night
The CD-ROM's beeping
The CPU's sleeping
Hidden textPhotoshop has crashed again.
Just Windows – no reason for fright.
While watching the Test on the telly
Which Waitrose now have near the deli
I dream of steak tartar
And electric guitar
To hide my big muscular belly.
The prodigal son has returned!
Let the fat calf be spitted and turned!
And when it is done
We'll serve on a bun
That's been toasted 'til brown but not burned
I've no time for chitter chatter
I have some paint balls to splatter
You'd best run and hide
And seek scansion guide
Lest the ref call you off for a natter.
In Moscow the smog is disgusting
And Curtain of Iron is rusting
Acid rain is a problem
So, factories? Just nobble 'em
And give that domed Kremlin a dusting
'Tis said by the ones "in the know"
That in April the rain comes as snow
In May, sleet is hail
In June rain and gale
Which only adds to our woe.
While sunning myself on the beach a change in the weather
Tony Blair began giving a speech
With my head in the sand
(I could not take a stand)
Shut him up, please, I beseech.
On my way to the dentist I saw
Something I'd not seen before
Pus oozed from loose molars
And it ran onto the floor!
oops, got it mixed up!
Onto babies in strollers This is the correct one to use.
And then it ran on to the floor! [Perfectly good last line too, I'd say.]
The talented Dr McCoy
Had a bugle. T'was his pride and joy
He'd play it all day
While he sat in the hay
With Sulu, his winsome toy boy
In winter, the sky seems to snow
The flakes flurry as the wind blows!
The will to live withers
The temptation to post: "BANG!<hr>" is overpowering :o)
The weatherman blithers
And we sip our hot red bordeaux ...
With Dickens, Mulled Ale was the thing or was it Mulled Wine?
He preferred it to champagne or bling
But of course, there's a Twist
And with Oliver pissed oblig.
Gruel was bought with the last farthing.
I heard the characteristic sound of a synchromesh eating itself on that last line. Perhaps it's just me though.
Today I met old Mr. Scrooge
Wearing eyeliner, perfume and rouge
With his arm around Cratchit (Sierra M) It ain't just you unless it's just the pair of us.
Whose own make-up did match it
I felt like I needed refuge!
Oh, let's sing an ode to the tench
Of its wonderful barbels and stench
But this tasty fish
If asked, has one wish:
Would be, "throw me back in the trench!"
Would be: "Oh, throw me back in the trench" seems to fit more snugly to me. Are my ears on the blink?
And now let the Cod stir our muse
With a chorus of Bass singing blues
Add in a cow
A bird on a bough
And a sheep makes it "Tweets, Bleats and Moos". - [Rosie/SM] Nope, it's not just you, unless it's just the three of us
Now let's chant on the worth of an eel Well done everyone on that last one
Just one pound a pound - it's a steal
In a sour jelly sauce
And mash, but of course
We must top with stewed eyeballs of Seal!
As I swallowed an octopus whole
I pondered the state of my soul
As its tentacles gripped
Round my spline it just slipped
T'was a bit of a sushi "own goal"
I talk to the trees - no reply
They say not a word - must be shy
I'll summon Prince Charles
To bring organic farls
And other such green stimuli. [Marc, 2 up] Alarming capitalisation, no?
Deep in the Forest of Dean [Tuj] maybe he meant the singer
There lives a cantank'rous old Queen
He dresses in drag
When he goes for a fag
The Yank kind, if you know what I mean!
How do you get text small? A hard break is needed here.
Up in the clouds, lives a moose
He's mauve, with a trace of chartreuse.
He looks kindly down [Kage] The simplest incantation to make small text is to put <small> and </small> around the text you want to disembiggen. Tuj, Software and I have gone a step or two beyond the basics, however.
With nary a frown
As he sips on jicama juice.
A good limerick follows some rules, My line is not a perfect example though. Good hints may be found here: http://freespace.virgin.net/merrick.sheldon/limerickrules.htm
Oft ignored by colonial fools
In time they may learn
That when it's their 'turn'
The limerick monster then drools
We've had too many big spats
And garishly styleless hats [Softers] My point exactly.
With big plume-like feathers
And bunches of heathers awful scansion
Festooned with twenty live rats
Prime the carb! Good! Now, pull on the string! Lawnmowing. Sigh.
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