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The Obligatory Limericks Game
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When the Crescenters arrive at Rab...
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And had guarded my new diamond necklace :-(
But instead they got high
On hash cakes (with rye)
And peckish, they ate it for breakfast (the jewelry, that is)
A dour dowager from Pisa
Who, frankly, was no Mona Lisa . . . . this do-WADG-er
Tried to drag me to bed
Said she needed my head ....and I'm not very bright either...
So I chopped it right off, just to please 'er
If you find yourself headless, take heed:
Do not ride on a galloping steed
With no head, you can't see
And you may hit a tree
('Though a headache pill you will not need)
My overindulgence in eggs Ain't no-one got rhythm? The penultimate one was a right clunker.
Has my tum encroaching my legs
I can't see my toes
And am forced to impose - [Rosie] For once I disagree. There was only one non-scanning line in that one (the first, "dowager" one).
Some eggnogs with Rhum, two –three kegs... have an eggnog guys and your rhyming and rhythm will get so much better ;-)
As I drank my morning coffee
My saucer slipped slightly agee last syllable in line one stressed I assume
My cup, it did tip
Fluid spilled from my lip
And it looked like I'd just had a pee - Coat
My ogee has gone all awry
So I think I'll just stand here and cry
For my arch is all wonky
'Twas built by a donkey
Who'd used the wrong value for pi
Very good!
And into the fray once again
Morniversers just have no shame
[SW] Clearly!
One can but despair
At their Devil may care
Society must be to blame!
I've had quite enough, let's secede
For then all the verse shall be freed!
Rhythm - begone! Cor, this i'n' 'arf poe'ic
Fell'as come on!
Let's just claw at our eyes, till they bleed
oops! drawing my line in the sand
When ones eyes are BLOODSHOT, and red
It's better to go back to bed
Try to stop the rotation
For your breakfast flotation
Get up tomorrow instead
A valiant hero in blue
Released a rock chick from the loo
where, perfecting her licks
She performed such tricks
As to fix steady dates with some glue ...maybe it's worth a try...?
This gallant, with plunger in hand . . . a handyman, t'is a noble vocation
Fights blocked drains throughout all the land (which does scan, at the risk of a sprained tongue)
He will hammer and screw, ....hoping his tools are in order...
While you wait for the loo
And his bill's never more than a grand.
My clarinet seems to have grown
It’s playing strange tones - yet unknown
I shouldn't have watered it . . . or taken liberties with the syllabic count :-)
Hung, drawn or quartered it (sorry, I know it's not the multiposting game, but I was passing and I thought I could help out)
Now it sounds like a trombone.
You remember when old Uncle Andy
Claimed he dated old Jessica Tandy
The thought of those two (Projoy) And I'm glad you did. Nothing wrong with posting 1st and 4th lines.
Makes me want to say "Ewwww"
For I'm appalled to find I am randy
Bach played on a cheap pennywhistle
If that don't appal you then this'll:
Herr Mozart's accordion
OK, bad rhyme... how about de Falla on ice
Playing: Three blind mice....
Or Puccini played on a bull's pizzle.
So could we try whisky instead?
This moonshine will leave us all dead
Here ! Slug on this raki
And chew on some baccy
In your pencil they will put lead
Pure Malt will be fine thank you Sir,
You see, I'm a finicky boozer
I insist on Laphroaig
S'miles better than Haig
Bong! Anyone else know the right pronunciation of "Laphroaig"?
Laphroaig (La-fróyg)
which makes it difficult to rhyme ..
I've always understood the g to be silent, as in joaig, ploaig, ahoaig, etc,
Though Bailey’s what Ladies prefer Never mind rhyming and/or chatting, Baileys is a reliable and fast first class G-spot moistener....
There once was a maid in a Bar,
[Raak] According to the head distiller, the "g" is pronounced. I saw him on telly 3 weeks ago on the wonderful "The Thirsty Traveller" on the Travel Channel.
Said "AnCnoc's the best whisky by far",
She would oft say
That a single Islay
Would get her knocked up in a car
Tonight we have an extension now, now . . . .
To our contest of "Dumbest Invention"
The next and last entry
"Hot-pants for the Gentry",
I shudder to have to now mention
My hot pants are only lukewarm
Since I bought them before you were born
What's more, they are damp
Thanks to the hot vamp
And my awful addiction to soft porn.
While playing in Grandfather's attic
Which he can't get to, 'cos he's rheumatic
I found the remains
Of some old Hornby™ trains
Like Connex South-East, they were static.
:-)
The day that I give my last croak
I'll play, on the mourners, a joke
My coffin's spring-loaded
And the eulogy's coded
To send the whole church up in smoke
Marvellous - just make sure you are ALL at my funeral :-)
There was a young chap from Cadiz (Chalky) I may not be able to make it, actuarily.
Who failed on his química quiz
Thinking Valencia de Sodio
[Rosie] If you don't go to other people's funerals, they won't come to yours.
Could be heard on the radio [SM] Good thinking, make sure you live long enough to receive deaths kiss!
He failed to impress as a quiz whizz I guess, like me, Rosie will have had a prior engagement ;-)
I'm learning to speak Mandarin
But I can't tell my chìn from my chîn
And I tend to wing wong
When I'm meant to ling fong
But I might just get by in Guilin
I just heard a ping pong ball ping
While testing my new backhand swing
The ball just went flat
(Being cheap, useless tat)
But at least it makes wonderful bling.
Her tits swung so wildly and vulgar, ( o )( o )
There was a young golfer from Troon [Marc] Shame on you.
She waggled her tail like a cougar/Whose balls were all creased like a prune
[tithead, whoever you are, and Marc] I really had hoped not to have to face that kind of stupid sexist rubbish in here. There are oodles of sites on the web where you can exercise your misogynist sense of humour, and I for one would be pleased if you'd piss off and do it somewhere other than here.
Apologies to rab and everyone else for flaming in the lims game. I'll come back in a week's time.
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
They chose, as a judge,
Mister Barnaby Rudge
For whom 'twas a mighty ordeal.
Cor Blimey, I ne'er saw the like
It's three hairy men on a bike!
A trick such as that
Performed with eclat
Just bowls me right off of my trike.
We listen; we keep a straight face
As Bush pronounces "nuclear race"
But we can't hide a grin
At George's chagrin
When, mid-sentence, he loses his place
There once was a writer from Wrab
Who wrote of lives dreary and drab
These sorry commuters
On sorrier scooters
Since long they had left in a cab....
There was an old man from Nantucket
With no worldly goods but a bucket
At the bottom of which
Lay a kitten, named Titch,
People gaped at how far he could chuck it.
Do I win £5 for not finishing with "f*ck it"?
*splutters tea into her keypad*
While wand'ring around B & Q (ISP) Only if you can prove that you would not have used that asterisk.
I searched high and low for a screw
Just one, on its own
Or two-- one to loan--
But multipacks is all that they do. Bloody irritating. In the old days, one could go to the local ironmonger, but they have all gone to the wall. Grumble, moan.....
I grumble and moan and complain
That my wife is the cause of my pain
But her skill at defining
My incessant whining
Is proof that she has half a brain
Half a brain is better than none
Why just ask a zombie, my son
Why not ask Tony Blair
He's the brain of a hare
And Mad Hatter all rolled into one
“Hey you, please get up and get dressed,”
Called chef to a bare turkey breast
But the breast did not answer
The culinary chancer
Who was mad, as you may well have guessed. . . . weird . . .
"Oh Gwendolyn please get my helmet,"
I said as I painted the pelmet good luck...
And read from Wyrd Sisters
While piercing my blisters This is really stupid - someone put it out of its misery, please!
Where my heels and my shoes had just met Now moving swiftly on...
I stay in the poshest hotels
With the Bishop of Bath and of Wells
We share a hot tub [Chalky] In my defence, I invoked Wyrd Sisters only because it pointed to the only other rhyme for "helmet" I could think of (Duke Felmet).
Eat room service grub- [PJ] Not you, m'dear - it was yet another opening line in speech marks I was railing against :-)
And play Beatles songs on our handbells.
The Bishop has got a big dong
It's not nearly so wide as it's long
When he puts it on show
The sharp end does glow
And choirboys keep singing their song... Oh Gwendolyn please get my helmet, I said as we swung from the pelmet, And while we’re up here, I’ll lay you my dear, And use my baldhead if you’re unmet….
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