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The Obligatory Limericks Game
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When the Crescenters arrive at Rab...
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Who liked to hit balls with his putter
Men far and wide
With more hurt than their pride
Regretted their brush with this nutter.
Were we to proceed in this matter
With pointless, banal, inane chatter
Then boredom were certain
'Twould e'en vex Paul Merton
Who'd say we're as mad as a hatter
Whilst trying to make non-lumpy gravy
[A trick I had learned in the navy]
I added some salt
And some whisky (fine malt)
The swell sent the sailors all wavy
It seems that bad light has stopped play
And that sky looks awfully grey
For when we play darts
In these northern parts
We only play on a bright day
I wouldn't think that was my car
Without fuel it shouldn't go far
So I'll panic-buy
And my tank won't be dry
I'll be the UK's Petrol Tzar.
The Guardian seems to have shrunk in size
It's not so good for swatting those flies
But the crossword's the same
(my attempts just as lame)
I just wish they'd show more bare thighs
A pension is something you need
A truism few young folk heed (Darren) Try the Torygraph, which is trying desperately to hold on to the retired-colonel-in-Hampshire readership.
If you save all your life
and insure your dear wife
You may profit from a dastardly deed.
There was a young lady called Hilda
Who sought fame as a great body builder
The size of her pecs
Made her friends nervous wrecks
But her six-pack did mostly bewilder.
All Telegraph readers say this:
It's the Home Service I really miss
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Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord