'Tra-la-la!' I declaimed, and 'Tee hee!' 'Woo-hoo!' and 'Ha-ha!' and 'Yippee!' Then later, 'Oh, cock!' Once I'm not on the clock And need no more simulate glee
Time to rewrite a Limerick from October 2014: An athlete of deeds meritorious, Whose life had been largely victorious, Fired on quite regardless - Dolus eventualis - Guilty of murder inglorious
As a brief diversion from lecherous Limericks, a lecherous Shakespearian haiku: My Love doth me wrong— But still, 'tis better than not doing me at all.
Time for a Christmas carol: Away in a manger, a child Was born and grew up meek and mild But when he turned thirty He got rather shirty And was nailed up for making folks wild.
We three kings of Orient are With these gifts we have come from afar Myrrh, frankincense, gold For we have foretold By the light of yon wandering star.
This is all getting too nice. So - I practise all day on trombone My neighbour does nothing but moan But were I Glenn Miller I'd go round and kill 'er 'Cos the dopey old bat's on her own.My neighbours are actually very nice.
My neighbour's a lousy tromboner He thinks that I'm just an old moaner His playing I'd pardon Were he Jack Teagarden Instead of a bitter old loner I don't live next to Rosie, and my neighbours are also very nice, and don't play the trombone.
To my right there's a lousy tromboner To my left, a trumpeting moaner I'm stuck in the middle With the old plywood fiddle flerdle sold me for forty five Krona
I also practise the piano Which is made from string and Meccanoshort "a" 'Twould not be ungallant To say that my talent Ain't mini or micro; it's nano.
That blasted tromboner's now tinklin' A piano. That bugger's no inklin' He's a Les Dawson bum When he's not George Chisholme As for me my ear drums are a-wrinklin'I hasten to add all persons referred to in this limerick are fictitious and that any resemblance to persons living, dead or undecided is a most unfortunate coincidence. Besides, my tromboning pianist doesn't know anything about meteorology or chemistry. He's an insurance salesman and he lives in Chipping Sodbury.
I thought I might repair my watch But my skills made the job one big botch All the springs, cogs and wheels Scattered under my heels It seems I'm a watch botch sasquatch.
There once was a milkmaid named Gretchen To say she was fugly 'twarnt stretchen' She eloped to Nantucket With her beau [and a bucket] So he'd have him something to retch in. (my apologies, it's the best I could come up with on the spur.)
I practice my trombone inside But I do leave the doors open wide So the the neighbours can squiz And see what a whizz I'm at doing strange things with my slide
Dear god has someone stuck a dart in Pablo's backside? No! He's startin' His etudes and scales. Amateur dentristry pales To that squealin' and screechin' and fartin'
A mate of mine played the trombone Down the line, from an old telephone The sound, like a fart, Went straight to my heart Like a dying man's sad final groan
He's not been now for four hundred years There are no more Othellos or Lears And Wives can't be merry For they come just to bury The rest is all silence and tears
For an hour and a half, at a loss, I lingered in Three Mile Cross I consumed more than one In a pub called The Swan But I'll soon be back home to the boss.
An old one, but a favorite There once was a Scot from Loch Fyne Who married three wives at a time. When asked, "Why the third?" He replied, "One's absurd, And bigamy, sir, is a crime!"
One from ISIHAC, with Tim Brooke-Taylor having to field the last line :) I once saw a crime that was heinous The first act of Coriolanus! Some mischievous joker Picked up a large poker Which really did not entertain us!