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Limerick Showcase
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A chance for players to showcase whole limericks for amusement & edification. Standard winning move for the purposes of euthanasia.
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Möbius bands
A mathematician confided
That a Möbius band is one-sided
And you get quite a laugh
If you cut one in half
For it stays in one piece when divided.
(Anon)

A mathematician named Klein
Thought the Möbius band was divine
He said "If you glue
The edges of two
You get a weird bottle like mine."
(Leo Moser)

I do hope Attila the Stockbroker doesn't mind me posting one that he's just put on Facebook:

A smelly, stub filled old ashtray.
Badly kept Greene King IPA.
Grim, pinched-face psychosis.
Severe halitosis.
That's Faragery in the UK.

A bunch of editor-types with what I correspond came up with a deadly set of alternative lyrics for 'God Save The Queen' but about Oscar Pistorius. It started...
Oscar Pistorius
Short through a door for us
Girlfriend injurious...
I don't think it got an ending because we all decided we would all go straight to hell if we finished it.
Keep up the good work, chaps.
oh, and
Inspired by penelope and other editor-types

An athlete of deeds meritorious,
Whose life had been largely victorious,
With blind gunshots multiple -
Homicide Culpable -
Guilty of acts most inglorious

I like the # one.
Soon frostnights again

During winter we must feed the birds
They are hungry and come in great herds
They love sunflower seeds
It fills most of their needs
And the pay us with white little turds...
And they pay us with white little turds...
I'm just going out for a while
Said Oates, with a hint of a smile.
He's a good chap, I thought
He'll do what he ought
With a stiff upper lip, that's the style!
I once had a highly trained moggie
Who could do anything that a doggie
Could – but it wouldn't.
'Cos cats know they shouldn't.
It's a core part of their psychologgie
That miserable cur, Ebeneezer
Thought Christmas a costly purse-squeezer
Then four ghosts in his sleep
Showed him how being cheap
Made him quite an unpopular geezer.
What's red, fat and goes "ho-ho-ho"?
One's stuck in my chimney, you know
It's blocked up the flue
And between me and you
This prevents proper draw and smoke flow
The stockings were hung up with care
But we snuck down and hid (on a dare)
At eleven o'clock
Me and sis got a shock:
Uncle Frank and our Mam tot'ly bare.
There's a sleigh on me lawn, full of tat
And a bloke lying near, red and fat
It certainly gives pause
To think Santa Clause
Could arrive quite as plastered as that
Two tramps spend a long time in wait.
"Let's go," one says, "Godot is late."
"I'm sure that he'll come,"
Says the other, face glum.
They don't move, but continue to wait.
His codename is Ack-Ack Macaque
He's teamed with a newspaper hack
He's battled the Hun
With booze, cuss and gun
I reckon he's earned his own plaque
Please guide me, by thy steadfast hand
A pilgrim through this barren land
You're mighty, I'm weak
Deliv'rance I seek
And food evermore's what I've planned.
Tom Cromwell served Henry (mark 8)
Juggling life, limb and law for the state
Though for long years traduced
His repute's now been spruced
- for the next episode, we can't wait!
An Easter limerick:
I remember the stable that night
God's birth was a hideous fright
If you crossed him you'd choke
And he'd think it a joke
But we've got him nailed up now, all right.
A very disrespectful, and potentially offensive retelling of the Easter story - hell, here I come (not that you exist). You have been warned!

Hidden textWe killed him, then waited a minute / Took him down, found a tomb, stuck him in it / Rolled a boulder in front / And then somehow that **** / Survived! Now that's magic, innit!
Unashamedly stolen from my Aunty Maureen, who has Scottish parents.
A young fellow called Cholmondeley Colquhoun
Once kept as a pet a babolquhoun
His mother said, "Cholmondeley
Do you think it quite colmondeley
To feed your babolquhoun with a spolquhoun?"
- Inspired by something I read

Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs
Boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs boobs.

To write dirty limericks you need
Dictionaries in which you will read
Dirty words that will match
A word rhyming with "snatch"
If you’re filthy like us you’ll succeed.
But if you're a bit of a cock
With a mind like a smelly old sock
Your feeble endeavour
To seem bright and clever
Just gives us more reason to mock
These boobs just keep running and running
As Stevie writes verse oh-so-cunning
As cool as ice cubes
He delivers his 'boobs'
And his final-line scansion is stunning
Enough of this outrageous hammery,
It makes me all stuttery-stammery,
I blush to my nose,
And just stare at my toes,
When the topic's unceasingly mammary.
(Sorry, wasn't very bold there...)
Not original, but an old favourite because of its sheer silliness:

Said the vicar of Old St Paul's
"Concerning these cracks in the walls,
would it be faster
to use quick-dry plaster?"
And the Bishop of Leicester said "Balls!"


The message came in bit by bit
It was clear things had gone all to shit
The chap on the wireless
Was tapping out, tireless,
Dit-dit-dit, dah-dah-dah, dit-dit-dit.
My name is Mouldy Muldoon
And I am a shade of maroon
That is kind of green
So it's never been seen
But you will discover it soon.

OR

My name is Mouldy Muldoon
And I am a shade of maroon
That is kind of green
With an opulent sheen
That shines with the light of the moon!


It's Monday: can't get out of bed.
It's Tuesday: A gas bill that's red.
It's Wednesday: a bruise.
It's Thursday: blown fuse.
It's Friday: Hooray! Still not dead!

A nod is as good as a wink
To a blind horse. But pause now and think
All this nodding and winking
And unseemly blinking
Could drive the poor creature to drink

Trainspotting in my teen years
Once was a cause for some tears
I was hit by a train
Then a tram, and again
By a linesman who boxed my poor ears

Humidity's getting me down
Every evening the Sun plunges down
But the air remains hot
And I find that it's not
So much sleep I get, more like I drown
A friend mailed me this one:
There was a young lady of Niger
who smiled as she rode on a tiger.
They returned from the ride
with the lady inside
and the smile on the face of the tiger.

If Godot eventually comes
He'll rescue this pair of old bums
They despair of their fate
Yet hope while they wait
That Godot next day surely comes.

Dad, into night, do not go gentle
For all who have made that descent'll
Avow that, old-aged,
Against dusk they raged—
Our desire to stay's fundamental
I don't think I'll never recall
What I've not had nor won't miss at all
I'm torn, yet I'm not
About unthings not got
I'm not running before I can't crawl.

When I attain 26
Balding, with fuses to fix,
Will you grow old with me?
For the best's yet to be
And you can't teach an old dog new tricks

I believe I shall rule the land
And you shall be my right hand
And naught will us keep
In our union deep
For our story's just a one-night stand

A swimmer I wish you could be
So sleek like the kings of the sea
But yet naught again
Shall our closeness maintain
Glory's short-lived dear, you see?

I a time can recall
Where you and I stood 'neath a wall
O'erhead the shots hissed
While you and I kissed
With no fear inside us at all

Perhaps we are nothing my dear
And nothing surrounds us I fear
In which case now flee
This solipsism with me
Heroism's a lousy career

A friend posted this one somewhere else
A prudent young schoolgirl named Lucy
who wanted to do something juicy
along with a dude
undressed herself nude
and stepped in a juice-filled Jacuzzi

There once was a farmer from Polk
Who made a trade for a pig in a poke
Though what I cannot divine
Is word he'd butchered the swine
When the sack held no pig ... what's the joke?
A pilot I know from Phuket
Had Baked beans but had to regret
As this enormous fart
broke t'propeller apart
Now he's feeding a biofuel jet
 (Hi Geo, nice to see you are on the air again!
I really don't quite understand
How matters got so out of hand
That even the Pope
Said that he couldn't cope
When Jeremy Clarkson got banned.
Approaching the end of November
I find that it's time to remember
The uncle I hate
And a cousin (or eight)
That I really would like to dismember
'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.
[Raak] GMTA. It's terrifying that that was 3 years ago though!
Slightly mixed carol(s)

In the city of David, a shed
And in it a crib for a bed
A mother so mild
JC was her child
And there she laid down his sweet head.

I am some hours behind;
So if you like, pay me no mind.
But it is with great cheer
I say Happy New Year!
(But then it's back to the old grind...)
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 Meccano short "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.
(Stevie) Now that is an insult. Local names for it include Sodding Chipbury or Chips and Sod All, according to my Bristolian informant.
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
[Stevie] Actually not a bad description of my teenage trombone playing
When the U.S. of A. starts to vote
There's hardly thinking a mote.
Electing a chump
Such as Donald J. Trump
Is hardly of a good note.
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
A hoary old campaign designer
Who never thought anything finer
Than mud-slinging crusades
Has done it in spades:
A Trumpedo has sunk the Cruz liner
They won't rub their hands now in glee
Both Democrat and GOP
For on Hallowe'en
They must choose between
The Devil and the deep blue C
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!
This was from Orange MC about 15 years ago, written by Thos, blamelewis, Simons Mith, Drewsxpa, and myself. It might be the best single limerick line I ever wrote (he says, modestly)

Greetings to you, one and all
Welcome to the Cheesemongers Ball!
We've plenty of crackers
Supplied by our backers
The Tedbiscuits, with their son Saul
And here's another from that golden age (by me, pen, Raak, Néa, and Thos), featuring a candidate for Thos's best line ever.

I like that my women be strong
Said Tarzan, who wore a sarong
If they can't climb a creeper
I'm not gonna keep 'er
My life is vine, women and thong
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!
[SM] Thanks for the note. The Ig Nobel limerick standard is appallingly high. I wonder who does them?
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.
But now you've ruined the Welshness by taking out the distinctive double L, you Phyllistine!
I have a heart of Fflint... and don't call me Phyllis!
[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.
Buttinski here

Us humans are all just the same
Always too ready to flame
When it comes out
That it's us that you doubt;
And then it's no longer a game.

Written by me, full disclosure/responsibility/etc.
I found myself burdened with cash
So I gave BDSM a bash
Now my body's a mess
I've got eighty quid less
Just like any old night on the lash.

Who is this Pep Guardiola
Is he fielder, batsman or bowler?
He can speak Catalans
And write in Gill Sans
And will not touch Coca-Cola.
"It could be the starter-ring gear"
Screamed the young AA man in my ear
"Either way I'll just go
And give you a tow
Off this M1 on-ramp*, never fear!"

* - Newport Pagnel Service Area, Northbound, 1984
"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!"
Double post. How strange. Removed.
"Impossible! Free again! You!
Dripping wet, Mr Bond, it is true
But otherwise no
Ill effects are on show
I assume it's the work of old 'Q'!"
"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."
[Stevie] Congrats, and do have a cup of tea. I think you've earned it :-)
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
The election's past, over, and gone,
Spoils now go to those hangers-on
Who, Jan 20, in pomp,
Will jump in the swamp,
Where the biggest hippo is Don!
Don said, "It's quite easy, you see:
My team must just resemble me:
White, male, and can shoot,
Or has lots of loot,
And lacking a college degree."

Did I read clearly that the Pres-to-be has put a munchkin in a top role?

Jingle bells, jingle bells all the way
Oh what fun! That's what people will say
Wearing red Christmas slacks
With my shotgun and axe
In my festive one-horse Christmas slay
While I rode on the LIRR
I recalled that there once was a bar
As part of the train
Where we'd reduce the pain
Of commuting while smoking (low tar)
While I rode on the LIRR
An announcement was heard, "Goodly DL"
"Would there happen to be
"The occasional Stevie
"As passenger, or part of the PL?"

Terribly contrived, but happy new year anyway

"Goodly DL"? Can't figure that out. Sorry.
Prof Stanley Unwin mate - "Goodly daylode", a general greeting.
Ah. A bit obscure for anyone not of my age I'd think. I plugged that in as my final answer but couldn't figure the etymology for the life of me.
Three cheers for Mahendra Singh Dhoni
A professional, sir, not a phoney
When batting at cricket
Or keeping the wicket
It's quite clear that he stood alone-y.
Hip hip, hooray! (thrice)
From MCIOS, a couple of days ago, with yours truly, Projoy, Software, Stevie and Chalky providing the lines:

The "Dark Lady", for whom this is written,
Is the one with whom I've become smitten.
Her sensuous manner
With torque wrench and spanner
Transformed my once shy to twice bitten.
Just presenting Alternative facts on an Alternative meter with some Alternative rhymes on an Alternative language
Mister Putin is truly an arse
And fat Donald is playing a farce
Mrs. Theresa May
Like Frau Merkel’s okay
Only Barack and Hill’ry are stars!
Just parlaying my good cheer. (belated Greetings for this new year, Marc.)
Though the Bourgeois was played like a chump
Knowing the game was rigged in the swamp
When the ante got raised
On he soldiered, unfazed
He called ... and game's won with the Trump.
Hi George, best wishes to you as well!
The crack of doom swallows this world
But life to the galaxy's hurled
By the might of our powers
The stars shall be ours
So the crack of doom may have this world.
Always liked the Ogden Nash 4-liner

On Seduction

Candy
Is dandy
But liquor
Is quicker.

There once was a virgin who said,
"My hymen is safe 'til I'm wed"
Though one night in my Chevy
When breathing got heavy
She lost it, my back seat turned red...
Seduction, an old hobby of mine, and another reason for Pen to file complaints?
Global warming makes sea levels rise
As we pump CO2 to the skies;
Yet fossil fools will
At the top of their Hill
Still claim it's all a pack of lies.
The day when Washington's drowned under water
The politicos may say "We oughta
"Have prevented this day!"
But I think they'll say
"It's just a problem for those that are shorter."
The day DC drowns under water would scan better and remove the geographic ambiguity.
On tour in the far Kalahari
My guide gave a glass of Campari
I felt warm – really hot
Was undressed in one shot
Now I think he’s on pussy safari
There once was a Kshatriya prince
Who was given three reasons to wince:
Sickness, death, and old age,
But he then met a sage
On the Way, which he taught ever since.
While addressing Conservative toffs
Mrs May was afflicted with coughs
With the aid of an actor
It seems Boris sacked her
To a mixture of cheers and "**** off"s.
There once was a girl from Decatur
Who thrashed as a crocodile ate her.
While MC'rs on the dock
Argued. 'That is no crock.
It's just a big ALLIGATOR.'
Of Man's First Disobedience I'll write
And how from Eden's gate they took flight
Blood, toil, tears, and sweat
Would be all that they'd get
Till a new Adam set things aright.
Fürst Hermann von Pückler-Muskau
Came to England in search of a frau
He delighted the salons
But his mercenary talons
Brought him only a scandalous row.
Long, long ago, in days of old
A Limerick got chaste by a Knight so bold
Neck to neck with him in speed
She failed, to outrun his steed
T'is why, in nine months time, the Limerick foaled
Long long ago in days of yore
Limericks were virginal and pure
Then elites took them to bed
...... and chivalry being dead
They'll not blush if you call them whore
The Olympics are on in Korea
Where all countries unite like Pangaea
With victories notching,
While I'm busy watching
The Head of Alfredo Garcia
Today it is Saint Patrick's Day
So later today we will sway
And drink Irish Whiskey
Although it is risky
We daringly drink anyway!
Not a limerick, but a piece of found poetry from earlier this week (late April) that slotted into a memory of another poem from a long time ago.
Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,
Droops on the little hands little gold head.
Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!
The Mablethorpe Webcam is Awaiting Repairs.

The AA Milne original is here.


Let the horizontal rule

A backward limerick borrowed from James Hogg
A backward young fellow from Chester
Didn't know what to do,
But then met someone who
Adored it when fellows undressed her,
A forward young lady from Leicester.
There once was a man with no penis Whose ejaculate was intravenous When he'd built up enough Of all that white stuff, So much for his underwear's cleanness!
[penelope] The version of that I first came across was:
Little boy sits at the foot of the bed
Absently stroking a golden haired head
Oh my, what could be worse?
Christopher Robin's been f*cking his nurse
Recently on Ye Twitteres, there was a meme flying around stating "Describe the plot of your favorite movie in a limerick; don't use the title." So...
I'm Henry, a king like no other
Plagued with sons who'd mutu'lly smother
    Each one, with bare hands
    Until one alone stands
But you know what's worse? THEIR MOTHER!

I've just heard an unlikely claim
That Johnson is changing his name
He'll no longer be "Boris"
But be known as "Maurice"
And spout loads of crap just the same
It's the last Test for Alistair Cook
Who can now go and write a large book
About caring for sheep
With a square leg that's deep
And a Gray-Nicolls bat for a crook.
Let's go on a jaunt down to Florida!
We'll drive the I-95 corridor
And in this big van
Go as far as we can
Till the neighbours find out that we borrowed 'er.
Rosie, Raak, Software, Pablo, and CdM provided this on this site. Having just read an article on FOMMOG - Fear Of Meeting My Own Goals, which could form a new game - I felt this summed the subject up better than the article.

My mother said I should not
Complain of my God-given lot
But I feel I'm deprived
As I have not arrived
Where by now I should surely have got.


The life of a Scotsman in Liskey
Can – literally – be pretty risky,
'cause once in a bar
When rolling an ‘r’
The chap found an ‘e’ in his whisky.
In my mind's eye, I see this great wall
And behind it we'll have such a ball.
It's manned by bald eagles -
Keeps us free of illegals -
I'll be re-elected next fall!

Building walls is a question of will
Which the Dems that are now on the Hill
Have never possessed:
But mine is the best,
And the Chicos are footing the bill!
A good friend of mine told me how
The Sixties were better than now:
When, with no sense of guilt,
His boss had a wall built
Round Berlin, by soldiers, from Moscow.
And this one I heard in the Army
There was an old man of the Isles
Who had measles, consumption and piles
On top of all these,
Yes - venereal disease
You could smell the old bugger for miles.
Found this anonymus pearl at the side of a statue of Winston Churchill:
There was a young man from Dundee
who said: "They can't do without me.
No house is complete,
without me and my seat.
My initials are W.C."
(Must be an alternativa Winston...?)
There's a chap from the Mull of Kintyre
Who does dubious things with barbed wire
I could tell you a tale
That would make you go pale
But you'd probably call me a liar.
[Marc] I believe Winston lost the seat of Oldham early in his career, and got 'parachuted' in to represent Dundee as a way of returning to the Commons.
(checks) Sorry, not Oldham, Machester North West.
[Marc, Projoy] I thought that ditty was witty in the combining the Dundee MP with household conveniences. Well, it made me laugh anyway. ;)
Where I hoped an opener on MCIOS might go...
If you like, I'll put in a word
That you'd like to play Richard the Third
On the Lyttleton stage
Despite your old age
Though there's bugger all chance you'll be heard

So Theresa has gone off to Brussels
For a feed of hot chips and steamed mussels
To seek a new deal
At a Head-of-State meal
Getting nowhere, for all that she hustles
The place of her wedding is set
At the cost of penurious debt
I don't see the need
Of why I have to feed
80 relatives that I've never met
A                      whose                      and clucked
Was                      when he                      and                     
                     with his                     
And                      was in                     
The                     , he said I am                     .
[penelope] The version I know is:
"Fu**! Sh**!" listen who swears.
Christopher Robin has fallen downstairs.
On first looking into GPT-2's Homer:

It sounds like the real thing, for sure
But will its works really endure?
Or does its success
Mean that we must confess
That "real" poetry's just as obscure?

(Reusing old stuff is not a sin)
I'm writing this verse 'coz I'm bored
using time that I cannot afford
so much else I should do
such as sit on the loo
and flush when I once find the cord
I'm bored, and it's getting to me
I've been all that I want to be;
Done my bucket list;
Still, I have, when I'm pissed
A much better class of ennui.
The difference between Johnson and Hunt
Is that Boris is awfully blunt
And will say things, I bet,
That he'll later regret,
And the other's a bit of a lookalike for Kenneth Williams when he looks sideways, don't you think?
Chalky and CdM started this off in t'other game, which inspired me to try and finish it better than was managed there. It may not have succeeded...
I hail from the island of Crete
Where minotaurs roam in the street
Whom Theseus fights
On Saturday nights
An attraction that's quite hard to beat.
Bravo!
An inventor of games, Erno Rubik
Made his name with a toy that was cubic
He said its creation,
Was rife with frustration
He tore out his hair, all of it

A dying mosquito exclaimed:
"A chemist has poisoned my brain!"
The cause of his sorrow
was para-dichloro
-diphenyl-trichlorethylane.
Pen mentioned Tennyson... who can do better?
There's Tennyson's Charge of the Light
Brigade, that remembers a fight
Twixt the Russkies and us;
But he makes such a fuss
Of a half a league cavalry flight.
[Bismarck] Phil can. :)
[CdM] Phil certainly could! I am not at all sure I can reach that level of scholarship.
I want Michel Barnier's job
For the pay, and the chance to play hob
With ces perfides Anglais,
And to say sans regret
"Oh Boris, won't you shut your gob?"
[CdM] I'll stick to the light-humoured topical stuff. More my line.
I haven't got anywhere else to put this:
Gordon Ramsay came to town
Riding on a pony
He put some lentils in his soup
And called it minestrone
When I was young and in my prime
I'd a wit as sharp as a silver dime
Nae more, as one can gauge
- I have improved with age
With half a brain I've writ this rhyme
My Dad told me this one:
There was a young lady from Stornaway
Who had her virginity torn away
She said "Never mind
I've had a good grind
And taken that young fellow's horn away"

They say there's 12 N on a C
Yet there's 24 H in a D
And 12 S in the Z
But my C's way ahead
Her 9 Ls are just bothering me.
I used to hate those puzzles. No point in trying when they're like this, it doesn't scan!
There once was a king in Great Britain
Who would treat every wife like a kitten
He kissed and embraced ’em
Then killed and replaced ‘em
By such love, may we never be bitten!
[Biz] 12 Numbers on a Clock
24 Hours in a Day
12 Signs in the Zodiac
Not sure what 9 L in/on a C would be . . .
[KS] as follows:
 It seems that my cat has nine lives
And he's certainly had a few wives
He's a bit of a rake
And makes no mistake
When deciding 'tween catnip and chives.
I understand now what it means
As you've explained as it's seen
A C is for cat
And L means that
The lives of the cat are ten minus nineteen.

An actor of highest profession
with expressive facial expression
missed the prompt, couldn’t hear
(he was deaf in one ear)
said : “To pee, or not pee, is the question.”
Based on what might have happened:
The Nobel Committee confided
That the Peace prize this year was divided
'Tween one who stopped a war
And one who started four
Do you think that that was misguided?
Inspired by a limerick started by Pablo and Superman:
Now hearken ye all, MC types,
Ye must cease to use Pampers wet wipes!
For Jacob Rees-Mogg
Says they clog up his bog:
"Obstruit stercorem O stipes!"
Inspired by a limerick in progress at MCiOS:
Is a Jaffa Cake really a cake?
The tax man claimed it was a biscuit
The case went to court
Which conclusively judged
That whatever it is, it's exempt.
From VAT.

There's a change in my life which is drastic
My new girlfriend is simply fantastic
She's a feast for the eyes
And to my surprise
I really don't mind that she's plastic.

(My coast is on and I've left the room)
(I've returned, sheepishly)

Some say I'm a bit of a loner
My girlfriend complains I don't phone 'er
I just peck when I kiss
And the reason is this
I'm buggered if I'll catch Corona

(Ok, the coat's back on)
Earl Dumbarton and Lady Kilkeel
Have jointly announced that they feel
So overwhelmed
As peers of the realm
They'll retire, till time all does heal.
One from MCIOS recently, courtesy of Stevie, blamelewis, Projoy, CdM and CdM:
Supplies are now running quite low:
I'm right out of whisky and blow,
And patience, and sorts
And the box with my thoughts;
And my head, depth, luck, it and the know.
Not a limerick, but I want to put this somewhere:

A glose upon the theme
"After waking up in a morgue, an orphaned teen discovers she now possesses superpowers as the chosen Halo-Bearer for a secret sect of demon-hunting nuns"
lately discovered to the writer by Netflix.
A secret sect of demon-hunting nuns
Is all that stands 'gainst ruin of the world
An orphaned teenage girl unwilling hurled
Must fight with holy water, cross, and guns.

A world called into being by this spell:
"A secret sect of demon-hunting nuns"
About this grit the writers' mucus runs,
And hardens to a pearl they're sure will sell.

A name: the Halo-Bearer! Superpowers!
She wakes up in a morgue, shorn free of ties
No parents block the plot; her soul must rise
Take up her quest to throw down evil towers.

So long as bits shall flow and draw the clicks
So long lives this, and all thanks to Netflix.
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who dreamed he was eating a bucket.
When he awoke it had seemed
He had done what he'd dreamed
And then he began to upchuck it.
Hidden textAnd they said it couldn't be done . . .

When it rains and you must not get wet
There are three things you cannot forget
Your oilskin coat,
Your portable moat,
And your trusty forecast from the Met.

You can stand on ceremony
Or on principle, people tell me
But I think it's best
To do like the rest
And stand on the floor, sensibly
To travel to Mars is just spiffing
Or Venus, Or Merc'ry. They're ripping
But stay clear of the moon
Or your find out that soon
Your traveller's luck will start slipping
While strolling a golf course one night
Two randy teens I gave a fright
Their attempt at a snog
Was now rendered "dog"
Because when I've had a skinful of rum I get lost and my route home can become somewhat eccentric on account of me not feeling all that bright.
Let the horizontal rule.

If it's tea you are going to make,
You need to get ready to bake
For drink without sweet,
Is not complete
And everyone will want cake.

Mendacity now rules the day
The lunatics having their way
This cultural blight
Infects left and right
Where it will all end none can say.
From Game 502 on MCIOS, courtesy of Rosie, yours truly, Stevie, Chalky and penelope
This line has been disinfected
And with Pfizer’s best twice injected
So roll up your sleeve
But don't be naive
Immunity's merely suspected.
"Now turn off the breaker" I said
"OK" she replied. "Go ahead."
There followed a flash
A bang and a crash
And that's all she wrote. I was dead.
It really is not all that hard
Even though you have little regard
For your own health, or mine
Don't act like a swine
Just put on a mask you fucktard!
I have just discovered, via J Budziszewski's blog, that Thomas Aquinas wrote a near-limerick. It goes like this:
Sit vitiorum meorum evacuatio,
Concupiscentiae et libidinis exterminatio,
Caritatis et patientiae,
Humilitatis et obedientiae,
Omniumque virtutum augmentatio.
The scansion requires the vigorous use of a shoehorn with both hands, but the rhyming is good. It translates as:
May [the sacrifice] purify me from sin,
do away with my evil desires and passions,
bring me charity and patience,
humility and obedience,
and strengthen me in all virtue.
I couldn't resist, sorry Raak. Haven't looked in here in ages and work is really boring at the mo. I've proofread 300 pages of 700 so far and it's dull dull dull, so a bit of rhyme and meaning wrangling will do me good.
May the sacrifice cleanse me of sin,
Chuck libido and lust in the bin
And instead I would be
More goodY-goodY
And purer, both outside and in.
[pen] Bravo!

I've a shiny new silver Euphonium
It gleams and it shines, just like Chromium
Now I'm learning to play
Everyone stays away
Friends and Neighbours leave me on my onium
(Stevie) I wonder if that applies to my trombonium. V good BTW. Rhagorol. Deg allan o ddeg.
I'm learning guitar but my thumbs
Are greatly confused by the strums
A moment of passion
Resulted in smashin'
Revealing a talent for drums
At the meeting of COP28
Hot air was produced at a rate
Which increased global warming
Stopping sea ice from forming
And making ten polar bears late.
Oooh, I was mentioned in Sept 2019. Bizarrely because I came here to find the Tennyson limerick.
If the government were to collapse
Fill the cabinet with some stop-gaps
Like Rees-Mogg at Health
Rushi Sunak at Wealth
And for PM, who else but Grant Shapps?
There's a ruthless side to Rishi Sunak
Despite his resembling a monak;
You'd better obey
Lest you hear him say:
"Go on then, make my day, punak!"
This was started by Radox The Green and Projoy:
Now Chancellor Nadim Zahawi
(Whose savings are not in Malawi!)
Thinks that he is the GOAT
But he won't get our vote:
We're not that daft, now, really, are we?
Having spent many long years in training
We expect he's an expert in reigning
And one of our own
So, as Charles takes the throne
Let us greet him with "Long live the King."
Raak set the precedent above, so here is a sonnet. I recently had lunch with someone who amuses herself sonnetising popular songs, and I thought I would take on the challenge.

(Is it not rich?) And if I sound resigned
(Are we a pair?) I'm grounded; you're unmoored.
(Is it not bliss?) This is what fate designed:
(Don’t you approve?) One flying; one who’s floored.

At last I'd closed the doors of past desire
And opened yours with one speech to profess
But you’d left for another lover's fire—
The poets call this irony, I guess.

(Don’t you love farce?) The dreams that we’d ignored
(My fault, I fear) I thought were now aligned.
(Is it not rich?) My timing, though, was flawed;
(Is it not queer?) Ah well, then—never mind

The jaded exits, faded evening gowns...
Just strike the set, my dear. Send in the clowns.

Hidden textI can't decide if 'Just strike the set and then deploy the clowns' would be a better final line. Substitute it if you prefer. :)
Bit too highbrow for me. This is more my level:

Oh, what a beauty!
I've never seen one like that
Share #marrow


While aloft in my DIY jet
I smelled fuel, and thought "my leg's wet"
I took out a fag
Lit up, took a drag

My dear mother said "Use your brain"
"Don't drive all that way. Take a train."
So I took her advice
(I don't need telling twice)
And now I'm doing 15 years in Wandsworth for grand larceny, operating a locomotive without a train driving licence and the kidnapping of one train driver, four conductors, 83 passengers, four dogs and a budgie named Jane.
I've recently picked up a cough
It's making life hard to get through
This out I must tough
Shun of Despond the Slough
And seek help from the folk of the borough.
[Raak] That's so good it needs plagiarising...
Behold ye the red-legged chough
Which nests on the end of a bough
Where it pecks out a trough
Feeds its young just on dough
And suffers a constant hiccough.
Boris on the burning deck
Which he had set alight
Surveying of his life the wreck
While maintaining he was right.
The cure for all Mankind's ills
Can be found in my patented pills
They should be taken when cool
No! Just one you damned fool!
Aaaand another fool's pushin' up cowsills.
A question for C.S. Lewis.

When Peter, and Susan and Ed
And Lucy got crowns on their head
Regarding gestation:
The next generation
Should come from which marital bed?
Primogeniture wasn't invented
So nobody's honour was dented
A new king appeared
Whom all the folk cheered
And all scandal was thereby prevented.
Someone on WhatsApp mentioned they'd had to write a poem on the theme "tree", and in reply, I made this up in 60 seconds, without time to make apologies to Joyce Kilmer...

There once was a beautiful tree
That wasn't so lovely to me
As any old pome
Pulled out of a tome
Pulled out of a beautiful tree.

Two festive limericks prompted by Projoy and this article on King Charles and his replantable Christmas tree.

goldfinch - King Charlie’s replantable tree
Makes a bold point on ecology,
Strong on conservation
Yet on his oration:
A touch wooden, his delivery.

Projoy - Charles drawls from a room that's enchanting
For now it's a "sir", not a "ma'am" ting.
He signals his virtue
with pine (or a birch?) who
Like him needs a speedy replanting.


The child, being close to the floor,
sees the dust gather up, more and more.
The cracks in the wall
grow, as children grow tall
till they leave; dust thrown up; closing door.
To eternity Sisyphus will
Roll his boulder atop Dollis Hill
The thrill of defeat
The will to repeat
Was, will be, and ever is still
A long time ago, I would pray
I could make the folk dance when I'd play
But then February's news
Bought a fresh wave of blues
The music had died on that day


So bye-bye, Miss American Pie,
The levee I drove to was dry.
Good ol' boys in their folly
Raised whiskies to Holly
'This will be the day they I die.'

On the day that the music expired,
The levee dry, Chevy flat-tired,
The Book of Love closed,
The jester deposed,
Music dead and American-Pyred.
[P, g] Very nicely done, both of you! I’m glad to have planted the seed for those.
[CdM,Pj,g] When limericks go right. Like the collective AP effort in the Game itself - poignant but very satisfying.
This was communicated to me a long time ago by the late Mr. G.T.Hughes; Rosie père

There was an old queer of Khartoum
Who took a lesbian up to his room
He said to his mate
Now let's get this straight
Who does what, and with what, and to whom?

Another in the same vein and from the same source:

There was a young lady from Stornaway
Who had her virginity torn away
She said "Never mind"
"I've had a good grind"
"And taken that young fellow's horn away"

We need more filth. Where's Phil - normally a rich source.

Settling the question of pronunciation, once and for all...

I see that you've ordered a scone.
I'm afraid I've just looked and there's none.
Alas, times are tough,
Can I offer you, though,
Some soup? We've a nice minestrone...
Many hundreds of moons ago (literally), one of my brothers
Hidden textnot NotJohn
and I composed some limericks based on Welsh counties. I've attempted to dredge up and reconstruct three of them.

A Methodist preacher from Gwynedd
Said “The man who continually synedd
Goes to hell when he dies—
’Less he scores lots of tries
When the Kingdom of Heaven he wynedd”

There was an old actor from Powys
Whose Richard showed dubious prowys
“The winter!” he went
“Of our discontent!”
(Always forgetting the “Nowys”)

A hopeless romantic from Dyfed
Said “Come see the world, my belyfed!”
But when they got no ferthyr
Than a guest house in Merthyr
She quite rightly told him to styfed

A bad boring bard from Glamorgan
Wrote verses about his own organ
Should you read them, be sure
To give up by line four—
At which point the conclusion is foregone
[CdM, after 30 minutes] They're harder than they look. I can see why you skipped Clwyd.
Rewilding is the thing in Clwyd
Though the species defined are quite fluid:
I once met a bear
Which gave me quite a scare
For into my pants I just pwyd.
[Projoy] I think we did have one with Clwyd but I’ve completely forgotten it. Perhaps because it was no good.
Said Huw Brys, a poet from Clwyd
"I'll write of my home, and not rwyd!"
But in Betys-y-Coed
He completely destroed
His verses. He blwyd—and knwyd
(CdM) I chortle. My Dad would be amused and impressed. BTW it's Betws-y-Coed.
[Rosie] Thank you. And of course it is; how embarrassing. Can I restore some of my semi-Welsh cred in your eyes if I tell you I do know how to spell (and pronounce) Llanfairpg?
(CdM) That's an easy one - just look at the signposts - they say LLANFAIR P.G. as do the bus destination blinds. The 58-letter version (a 19th century commercial gimmick) is for tourists only. 0
Y tanllinellwr hwyr

They staged the Eisteddfod in Gwent
So long-winded Rhys packed his tent.
He was, as things stood,
(and as poets go) good.
So, as good poets go, off he went.
Re-incarnation. This seems as good a place as any to mention it, that my late mother's maiden name, Eluned Morgan, is exactly the same as the new First Minister for Wales. Now don't start getting bossy, mother. Remember you're now a Hughes, like me, sort of thing.
[Rosie] I'm back, and potentially working on new Philth.
Well, frankly, I have to be blunt
While I try to put on a brave front.
Since the day he stood down
This bard's worn a frown.
Oh how I miss Jeremy Hunt!
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