The Ig Nobel prizes are also summarised in Limerick form. Among many I liked this one: It repeats every word that you say, But after a tiny delay. A more irksome machine Has never been seen. It's SpeechJammer. Buy one today!
I once wished my daughter had listened To advice, but instead her eyes glistened With adult desire. Now her boyfriend's a sire, And on Sunday my grandson gets christened
Our Boris is back in the saddle While Gove's up shit creek with no paddle And so come what May At the reckoning day They will meet their fates in the Eubattle.
A mathematical one I got from years back, no idea where from:
6,129,872,700,011.97425683
Six trillion one hundred and twenty Nine billion eight hundred and seventy Two million and seven Hundred thousand eleven Point nine seven four two five six eight three
Who wrote this one? In the Highlands when new moon is full Little lassies will give a hand pull After while they will suck And if you are in luck You may mount them in kilts made of wool.
Bism, that's from Martin Gardner. Stop me if you've heard this one I bought the new iPhone today, Which shortly filled me with dismay For its sister, the "Six", Does all the same tricks, But with headphones that you won't mislay.
[Marc] You wrote it here, Marc. I see that it's down to your usual standard. Do you think you will ever be able to make a post on this server that is not smutty or misogynistic or lewd?
[Pen] You are probably right and I will never be able to reach your supreme level. It is a pity though that you don't post more than once a year or so... This is yours from 2012 by the way: On the chest of a barmaid from Sale Were tattooed all the prices of ale And on her behind For the sake of the blind Was the same information in braille.
So that was my forty-ninth summer And winter draws on, what a bummer! With each passing week A new joint will creak And my toes will get number and number.
From the limericks on this site, a collaborative effort by [penelope], myself, [Pablo], [Rosie] and [Stevie] in line order. (I modded my line a bit to improve the scansion.) There was a young man out of Rhyl Whose gigantic restaurant bhyl Came from scoffing ten courses. He thereby endorses Credit card use at the thyl.
[Marc] - That barmaid limerick is older than me; my dad fished it out when I was a teen as an example from his youth (though the scansion here was busted by the unnecessary addition of "all" in the second line). The Highland one is an ugly thing, the putative author having chopped the indefinite article twice to make it scan, rendering it into something other than English. Filthy is OK, but such works have to fit the scheme without turning into furbish, surely? Otherwise we have a Stuffed Owl.
[Stevie]I have never claimed to be the author of the Highland one. If I remember correctly it was sent to me years ago from a friend with his roots in Dundee, Scotland. Nevertheless it gave you the opportunity to show off as the smartass I think you are. The only reason that I wanted to remind Pen of her contribution The barmaid was that some might think it is also misogynistic in one way or another. However here is another old one for your critique:
My wife is a Lady, I think, Cause her knickers are narrow, and pink On the rim there is lace, On the bottoms a trace, Of the finest of beaver and mink.
[Mark] If you read again with your eyes open you'll see that at no point did I attribute "the highland one" to you. I just said, rightly, that it had been turned into near gibberish by eschewing the needs of the language it was written in in order to make its "joke". This is one of the criteria laid out for bad poetry in The Stuffed Owl; an anthology of bad verse. In point of fact I didn't think the idea was strong enough to warrant the energy needed to write it, but I never blamed you for it. I did out penelope as not the author of "tattooed barmaid", with the same comment I made the last time it surfaced in the wild.
"I've checked, and you've no magic wand So I don't think that you will abscond Since you're fastened down tight Under my laser light I expect you to die, Mr Bond!"
"How on earth did you ever get free? Never mind, makes no difference to me. Fort Knox is your tomb You're about to go "boom" Mr Bond as you clearly can see"
"Damn and blast, you escaped once again! This is getting too much. What a pain. Please throw Mr Bond In that bottomless pond Wrapped in twenty five feet of steel chain!"
"No more "watch" Mr Bond, no more "keys" I'll take both your "shoes" if you please And your "belt". And your "Hat". And your oiled "cricket bat" Time to die. We are done with strip tease."
"And now into the chamber you go Where two quarts of nitro will blow As the cyanide gas, Whirling blades and ground glass Make an end to you Bond, don't you know?"
"Hahaha! There Bond lies burned and torn No escapes. No more jokes old and worn. Wait? What's this I see On his singed laund-ery? It's a tag. And it reads 'Jason Bourne'!"
"I'm off 'fore this "Bourne" chap comes round For he's not dead, just stunned I'll be bound And when he finds out Who did this, I've no doubt My Germanic bonce he will pound."
Take "The", [proper name] and a filler For the title of your Ludlum thriller. Then on to the plot Which is mostly rot With a secret, three spies, and a killer.
The chuck key was here, in the drill But the chuck's gone AWOL from the quill! Events now play Hob With my "ten minute job" Wasting time, adding cost, sapping will