While Billy was bombing out back,
His wife screamed, "We're under attack!"
"That was me, sweetie-pie.
No, you ain't gonna die,
Unless I catch you messin with Jack."
(Jack's real name was Mahmoud, but Billy couldn't pronounce it.)
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While Billy was bombing out back,
His wife screamed, "We're under attack!"
"That was me, sweetie-pie.
No, you ain't gonna die,
Unless I catch you messin with Jack."
(Jack's real name was Mahmoud, but Billy couldn't pronounce it.)
Oh baby, you know you's my one and only
The love of my life, my li'l roly-poly
Jack can go pound sand
I'm you're jelly-roll man
So c'mere, baby, let's do something unholy
Though some claim that the world is flat,
I have second thoughts about that,
Since my sweetie is round,
From her head to the ground.
It's more likely my world is fat.
Long tall Sally or short fat Fanny
Home town Annie or a Pakistani
They can enthrall
I love 'em all
'Cept maybe that not-quite-right tranny
Sorry, no lyimerick,Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
just feeling a bit systemic
from th eMkars Mark
that sparked a spark
recalling a ditty;
a Bob Wills witty...
this is for Yes/No:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhB-P820HP0
From a distance, the tranny's OK,
But up close something gives her away.
After touching first base,
Grasping second, the race
Down to third just might ruin your day.
(That Bob Wills song makes me want to stick to my diet.)
There was a young guy from Papua New Guinea
Piled his hair up high but his legs were too skinny
He dressed up fancy
They called him Nancy
Truth be told, he had an outie but wanted an innie
Now the trannies are hopping with hate
And those challenged with slightly more weight
Than they need to squeeze by
Are all telling me, "Die!"
"Just lay low." "They'll forget." "It's too late."
*Grace Slick was a huge supporter of free love
Our man wanted to find somebody to love
Our man needed to find somebody to love
Biology was against him
His prospects looked grim
But he was unconcerned if parts fit hand in glove
Hey, this being Easter, and in keeping with our theme of love and understanding, we oughta do a resurrection-day limerick. Whatever else he was, or whatever else people have tried to make him into between then and now, Jesus seems to have been a really good guy. And Jesus, like Grace Slick, loved everybody. Also, in every picture I've ever seen of him, he was wearing a dress.
Agreed.Quote:
Originally Posted by Sancho
They body of Jesus, they say
In a rock-covered cave they did lay
But they got quite a shock
When removing the rock
For he hasn't been seen to this day
On Easter He rose from the dead
Fulfilling what old prophets said.
Although Dawkins might doubt,
There is no need to pout.
Be happy, not fearful, instead.
There once was a fellow from Galilee
Who promoted a unique philosophy
He said it's not weak
To turn the other cheek
And turning water to wine was his propensity
I'm willing to bet good money that we were the only site on the entire web that was writing Jesus limericks yesterday.
As Easter is still with us, I think another one would be appropriate.Quote:
Originally Posted by Sancho
Could there ever be anything slicker
Than a silver-tongued Anglican vicar
Or something as funny
As an egg-laying bunny
Or a 'Jesus Loves You' bumper sticker?
http://imgur.com/E0VRPyb
Nice one, Emil.
Okay, so, back to sillier pursuits:
There once was a man who thought tweeting was GR8
For the English language though what is the fate?
2B or not 2B?
He said OMG!
BTW with 140 characters it limits what you CRE8
(I wanted to try one in text language. I think I got the character-count right)
As a twitter he rather would tweet
Whether standing or slouched in some seat.
Even nights spent in bed
With his girl tweets were read
Till the day they might physically meet.
(That took 143 characters, not counting the spaces. If I were a computer, I would probably count the spaces as well, so 178 characters.)
While the young man thought tweeting was GR8
A tech savvy genius, evidently El Sancho ain't
The 140 character limit
Has spaces in it
Must be a malfunction in Sancho's mental state
(No doubt about it)
It's a mystery why people tweet,
Being brief and concise and complete.
All I'd say, though, is 'K',
Yeah, babe, have it your way.
With one character, that's short and sweet.
I've never sent a 'tweet ' as I've no desire to do so and here's why:
When people send off a tweet
The tweet is dispatched quite tout suite
But why do they text it
Like someone dyslexic
Who has typed it out with his feet?
There once was a monster named Mo
Who was lonely like most monsters, though
He would tweet like a beast
And prepare Belle a feast,
But she tweeted that she dare not go.
Jim sent a text seeking a date with his girl Jane
Jane texted back suggesting the pub down on Main
Let's meet at Eight
But Jim was late
'Cos he had a digital watch but an analog brain
An analog brain is a drag.
Like a tail overweight, it won't wag.
Like a wish to get there
Matched with, "Hey, I don't care!",
Like a babe who wants out of the bag.
A fine young lass sitting on a log checking her watch
Along came a strange fellow scratching his crotch
He sat down beside her
She said pardon me sir
But aren't you the one they refer to as The Sasquatch
While Sasquatch was sipping a brew,
A lady came up to him, "You!
You're the father, you cad!"
Was that good? Was that bad?
Sasquatch thought now the world can have two.
At the delivery Granny's head nearly burst
The baby was abnormal and certainly cursed
The birth wasn't easy
The midwife got queasy
Baby Sas' popped out ugly, furry, and big-feet first
Furry Sasquatch was now a proud dad.
Though this ticked off the grandma a tad,
His fine wife was a dream
Having learned not to scream
Except when they're in bed, or just bad.
A Sasquatch intermission.
Some of you might recall the 2010 Cold Ale Blokes Christmas play...
http://www.online-literature.com/for...lay&highlight=
That was a nice Christmas play. As I think about it, the Flat Earth Poets Society is a great name for a group.
A lisping God of yore
trapped himself in the door
The end of his knob
began to throb
And he cried "I am Thor."
or
A lisping young god of yore
sunbathed in the nude out of door
Till the end of his member
glowed like an ember
and he cried "I am Thor".
so many words to choose
A lisping young god of yore
went to sunbathe in the raw
His lesson he learnt
his willy he burnt
And he cried out "I'm Thor."
Coetzee, ambivalent about cricket,
Thinks reading a book more the ticket,
Caught watching a test match,
Hurls his TV, shouts, "Catch!",
Auster ducks, and it lands in a thicket.
Playing cricket's a fine thing to do.
Getting burnt at the beach is nice, too,
But what Sasquatch can't figure
If his brain is bigger
Why he's the one fit for a zoo?
When my time came near
The road became clear
Veer into life
Steer away from strife
Knife away all fear
Two hunters saw Sasquatch appear
With his wife and his baby both near.
Before they could fire
Granny said, "I'll aim higher
If you shoot anyone around here."
Welcome, colb2! Nice limerick. I tried to use some of your rhyme words.
Used your rhyme pattern and stuck with topic :-)
I held in hand a very big spear
In the yard drinking a beer
While keeping warm by the bonfire
Seen a monster climb the barbed wire
Yes, off I ran in high gear!
Upon Baby 'Sas the fine young lass did certainly dote
Even though his baby shoes were the size of a boat
The town folk were aghast
Puzzling questions amassed
Such as at age eighteen should he be allowed to vote
Although monsters are scary, they could
Be an alternate boyfriend, but would
You excuse their rich smell?
Resist urges to yell?
They do bite, if you bite them first good.
The campaign wants to take it to court.
Civil liberties have come up short.
"Let him vote! Let him drink!
Let him work! Let him stink!
Do you think he is just good for sport?"
The Supreme Court waited to hear arguments
The ACLU had filed the legal documents
Justice Breyer was opposed
Justice Thomas just dozed
And Sasquatch was released on his own recognizance
When words escaped thought
I became overwrought
Letters all mixed
The mind transfixed
Poetry's what I sought