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The Obligatory Limericks Game
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When the Crescenters arrive at Rab...
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But not so much that we are sick.
Not for the first time I'm here
On the plus side: look, Friday is near!
with a full weekend ahead
And black silk-sheets in my bed
Soon we'll put ourselves in first gear!
One Friday (quite soon) I think that I will
On leaving work, put my hand in the till
To finance my fun
While I go on the run
I'll never get caught if I bung the Old Bill!
Two days free, so what shall I do?
Visit Blackpool, or far Timbuktu?
Alas, I am skint
Please give me a hint
How rude! And the same to you too!
Foucault's Nietzschean Historiography
Is a bloddy good read when you're lonely
But for those who have friends
Well, we know how it ends
- in a maze of verbose sub-pornography
But Durkheim, of course, is much clearer
In claiming that orgasm's comes nearer (sorry, my French isn't that good, maybe he meant organs?)
Using specialist aids
And a system of grades
that suited that buttonned-up era.
My Grandfathers clock has got tics
Which explains his success rate with chlicks (cloat.ha ha)
It also has fleas
And arthritic knees
But its name is Captain Hicks.
The trouble with women in cars ,Not going anywhere you understand
Is really they’re driving like stars Alternative ending of last one: The reason it strike and not kicks!
In Venus-like fashion
A shame they keep crashin' tortuous final syllable pronunciation required
Into men driving back from their bars
She was finding it hard to deny it
'Cos she knew that her drivin' was shy-it
So she let actions speak
And drove up the creek
and flooded the engine and had to walk-it!
There once was a lim’rick molester,
Named Widey, whose arse ought to fester,
His lines would not scan,
He rhymed like my gran,
Whose dyslexic verse made all detest her
If ever you have to submit
Make sure that you’ve poof-read your wit
For there's little that's worse
Than to feel a bit hearse
And everyone else calls you sh... bad.
Obvious I know, but I swallowed my pride
“Dear Sir, I have never been kissed,”
Said the young matchstick-seller to Lizst
"Not a lot, my young sir"
Though my looks cause a stir
But my moustache makes most men resist
I know this sounds weird but it’s true
I keep a bright turquoise cuckoo
The first day of each spring
It endeavours to sing
The entire score from "Cat Ballou"
Andrew Lloyd Webber's a brilliant man
And he keeps as a pet, a scarlet toucan
Called "Beaklight Express"
It will always impress
Far more than his musical scores ever can.
Don't look at me! The scansion was f*cked anyway ...
:-)
:-)
:-)
Chalky - Today I shall swear with rude words
Such as "frumjittle yaxlifrous knurds!"
And this precedent
Will surely cement
my status 'mongst top foul-mouthed birds. Dreadful sorry, m'dear; couldn't resist it.
Insults are all part of the game
That line is so bad and too lame ;-)
So turn up the heat
Make y'r enemies bleat
And give them back more of the same.
They say it's a form of respect
When by magpies you're violently pecked
For an avian mob
It's just part of the job
They don't care if your features are wrecked
Whatever became of Cock Robin,
I hear you cry, wailin' and sobbin'.
Well, don't look at me!
Don't do archeree
Just try feel the beat, get the throbbin’. Well, don’t blame me, blame Chalky, Darren or Merriam-Webster's!
There once was a redheaded blonde
Of whom I was terribly fond
Her green brown grey eyes
And roan skewbald thighs
Made me ask if she'd like to abscond.
The loveliest lady I know
Is a tranny called 'Leg-over Flo'
What she'll do for a pound
Will amaze and astound
But the therapy after will cost though
My wife’s wearing spurs – in our bed,
There's an odd wire thing on my head Well, a guy gets simulposted, what dost thou expect?
And I don't know whether
we should get it together
With the guests or each other instead *deploys coat*
The problem with most politicians
Is their penchant for loose coalitions
They plan and they plot
And care not a jot
When spending our bank depositions.
My taxes so gladly I'll pay,
If you'll take Michael Howard away
Call men in white coats!
While he cackles and gloats
And makes like he's god's gift next May. 2005. Nah - surely not. He won't really WIN, will he?
A serious lot are the Swedes
Much given to wearing of Tweeds
They hammer and screw (Assembling those IKEA furniture)
and turn the air blue (Assembling those IKEA furniture)
with fumes from the smoking of weeds.
A frivolous lot are the Welsh
For scansion is left on the shelf
The same goes for rhyme
And tune, most of the time
And drinking on Sunday's I'm told
The Welsh are a frivolous lot - let's try that last idea out in a way that can actually be rhymed without recourse to the Star Trek Klingon Dictionary™
For their clothing they care not a jot! True. I wrapped one in tin foil today.
They can often be seen Curse that simulposting!!
in peninsular Lleyn (Bif) Yes, but we are deeply frivolous. There's a difference, inni' aye.
Knitting sweaters from seaweed and snot. http://www.lleynsheep.com/
Believe in your faith and you’ll see, Also a humble apology to all honest, frivolous but hard-working Welsh women and men!
The Welsh dragging snot from the sea
It gets caught in their rowlocks
And then removed by their cox
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Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord