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The Obligatory Limericks Game
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When the Crescenters arrive at Rab...
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There was a young golfer from Troon
Who played every shot with a spoon (a No. 3 wood)
(The most runcible kind)
And though much maligned [t,M] What pen said.
From bogeys he seemed quite immune
He drove from the tee with aplomb
His drive - it went off like a bomb well played pen - hear hear on all counts
It landed pin high . . . always sounds like some Chinese bloke, that.
And he let out a sigh
Because it had slipped from his palm [pen]my line was certainly not meant to offend anyone and I’m kind of surprised by your interpretation. I guess it’s with limerick lines like with kids: We love our own.....
Yeah Mark, so that's why you have to actually DRAW tits in the limerick game? Pur-lease. For the record, I hate your 'kids'. If you want to continue this discussion elsewhere, I'm quite happy to - I'm a new justine and I use aol.com for emails.
The watchmaker's son was too late
And therefore he missed his first date[pen et al] my ‘drawing’ was supposed to resemble a man with wide opened eyes watching the Women’s final of the tennis game the other day and not a pair of tits as your imagination may have fooled you to believe. Have a nice day! [Chalky]Nice line you submitted the other day at the game Multiple Lines Per Player: “By giving her one 'gainst the wall”, but beware, pen may spot it and accuse you for being a “stupid sexist rubbish” publisher!
His hair-spring had sprung (Marc) Eyes? Bollocks! They're tits. You're in a hole - stop digging. And crawling.
The alarm had not rung
And his young lady friend wouldn't wait.
"Just whom do you think that you're kidding?"
Said seller to buyer when bidding
"This is a Titian . . . . hanging quotes
No way it's Mauritian"
.. why the long pause I wonder ..
So the deal to a quick halt came skidding. .. dodgy last line in order to move swiftly on
Chalky - I'm insuring my knees to the hilt
And my hips, though of Kevlar they're built
My ribs are of steel
(plus titanium heel)
And my false teeth- they're loaded with gilt
With 2 grams of flucloxacillin
You could wipe out all Enniskillen
All germs, bugs and cattle
You'd hear their death rattle
That's how you make a great killin'
Relaxing one day in the bath,
With a volume of Sylvia Plath
My bathing-mate's clowning
Pretending she’s drowning
What GSOH this girl hath.
I nipped into my bookies one day
And bet that Boy George wasn't gay
At eighty to one
I'd say I'd been done
But it turned out he wasn't - hooray! (in another universe.)
A funny lot, those London Loopers (It goes past my house).
Filled with tourists and some hula-hoopers
They circle the streets
They nibble their eats 1st + 4th is OK, I think.
As they stare at the guard-changing troopers
The Bishop of Bath and Wells Not everyone, it seems, knows what the London Loop is. It's a sort of M25 for walkers, and about as fast.
Never learned to control his bad smells (adding an xtra syllable for Rosie ;-)
His underarm pong
Made his churchgoing cong- (unfinished word alert)
-regation avoid waving farewells
The Bishops of Wells and of Bath
Forget that, not many rhymes for "bath".
The Bishop of Wells-next-the=Sea
Had a flock of just twenty and three
They worshipped their Bish
And sacrificed fish
Which after they ate for their tea
Archbishops, as rare as they are,
Are given free drinks at the bar
But Cardinals pay
For their fine Chardonnay
And prostrate themselves for a Budvar
An eparch, a breed rarer still,
Writes all his decrees with a quill
His face becomes stern
(But not quite a gurn)
When his inkpot requires a refill.
A lobster, a crab and an eel
Disputed who best danced a reel
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