Some Recent Silly Limericks
He Does What a Man Can Do in Katmandu
He had crossed the Sahara all bare--a nudist,
Then broke records for height as a parachutist,
Scuba-dived, speared huge barracudas,
His poems out-raved by far Neruda’s!
Then became, to escape from Samsara, Buddhist.
A Mufti Must be Tough
There was once a quite overweight Mufti:
When he climbed stairs, then huffed he and puffed he.
Gorged with camel and goat,
He’d drink tea by the boat-
Load, good strong tea, but never enough tea.
All his harem feared sex with this Mufti:
Though no softy if properly fluffed, he
Would crush them. Craned aloft,
They’d get hurt slipping off
From such height, so he’d always rebuffed be.
But the Mufti solved that--had each muff,
Plus his genital tuft, glued to stuff
To make wives stick, and well crow
He might: “Praised be VELCRO!”
He’s non-slip and they fit like a gluff!
Was the Mufti Miffed?
There was once an old Mufti in Marakesh
Whose huge harem was musty and barrackish--
Forty kids, twenty wives
Shared twelve beds. When their knives
Flashed out, décor became rather car-wreckish.
He May Lose a Limb
Bold young Adam, a lad from Jerusalem,
Liked to goose girls, then run--to bamboozle ‘em.
From Galilee to Tel Aviv
He was hot on the tail of Eve!
Who wants courtship with chance of refusal--him?
Did He Ask, “Will You Marry Me?”
A French-Foreign-Legionaire come from Laramie
Had been warned by his pal, “Don’t you dare, Ami!”
Yet he rousted an emir,
Hollered “Ain’t there no dame here!”
Raised a drape, crowed “Who’s king of this harem? ME!”
A Joisey Goil Gets Her Kicks
There was once a young lady from Hoboken
Tried to get on the street car with no token.
The conductor said “No!”
And his shin took the blow
Of her kick. She limped off with a toe broken.
A Burglar’s Agenda
A young man in Hoboken, New Joisey
Found the world, when awoken, too noisy,
So he slept through the day
And then prowled till dawn’s gray,
But he spent the day pokin’ Sue, Thoisday.
You may notice in downtown Weehawkin
A gaunt man who is ceaselessly talkin’
To himself about Jesus
And sundry diseases…
Look away? Or discreetly be gawkin’?
An Unfortunate Youth
There was a young man who grew older,
Then grew older and older and older,
And when his cold body
Slipped under the sod, he
Just left it to molder and molder.
Prayer of the New Woman
O why MUST we be cursed with this uterus?
Through its frailty, see what man can do ter us:
We swell up like balloons!
Vomit, Sponge-Bob cartoons!
Diapers, screams, sullen teens…PLEASE, Lord, neuter us!
In Salad Days, Invalid Days, For Thy Maladies Try Salad, Eh?
The young lover in every sad ballad
Sees his maiden grow feeble and pallid.
“Why must she whom I cherish
Shrivel up, cough and perish!
O why WOULDN’T she eat all her salad?!”
Be He Real or Be He Myth?
At the loss of the beast called Behemoth,
I’m diminished, as strange as it seemeth:
Be he Bee or hippopotamus,
What is gone we’ve just gotta miss,
Be he butterfly (farewell!) or be he moth!
Land of elephant, lion and zebra
And the beautiful black Queen of Shebra,
All those herds jammed with traffic
And those National Geographic
Girls with huge tits that cry for a Z-bra!
There was once a young fellow turned seventy
Who thought, “Soon I must be drinking Heaven tea?
It’s just three score and ten;
Why not more: FOUR and ten,
Then at FIVE score and ten, turn eleventy!”
Par for the Cur, Dorothy [Parker]
A lewd lad who’s had too many glasses,
At a lass wearing glasses makes passes.
He’ll not pass on a lass,
If she has but an ass,
Be she bald, pocked and swollen with gases.
[Refers to Dorothy Parker’s lines re guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.]
A Limerique for E. A Poe, Who Espoused “A Sort of Runic Rhyme”
A young poet cried, “I’ll be unique!
I’ll dress up in a purple tunique!
In my lyrical wailin’
I’ll out-do Edgar, Ailin’,
And write rhymes that are sort of runique!”
But, Alas, Not Billable, Bill
There was once a young man in a limerick
Whose first name wouldn’t rhyme like Stan, Jim or Rick.
Now, accent the wrong syllable,
And my last line is fillable,
Though the rhyme’s monstrous, three-fold and CHIMeric.
[Note: “CHIMeric” should be chiMERic, so I’ve accented the wrong syllable. The rhyme is of three syllables (chimeric and limerick), so threefold, and monstrous (wrong syllable stressed) and referring to a threefold monster, the Chimera (made up of three critters, part lion, part goat and part snake). The last line is, thus, fillable, but not billable, since no one is paying me by the syllable (or any other unit). The next limerick varies this theme.]
From Womb to Tum-
It’s too easy, composing a lim-
eric on a young fellow named Jim.
Eric’s harder: Two syllables,
Which increases my billables
(If by syllables paid)—hence this gim-
If Only He’d Lain in his Chamber
That pathetic Prime Minister, Neville,
Hoped the Fuhrer was quite on the level,
So he caved in at Munich,
Diplomatic, suave eunuch…
“Peace,” thought Hitler,”can go to the Devil!”
“Did You Do Her?” “No, But I Have Donne.”
Having bet his pals Belle’s tits were real,
On a date he made her let him feel.
Her tears made him feel stupid.
When they asked, “What’s the scoop, Ed?”--
He said, “Ask not for whom Belle doth peal.”
[Note: Poet John Donne, late in life, wrote a poem on his own death that toys with his name, saying, for example, that when “You” (God) have forgiven certain sins, “Thou has not done, for I have more” and so forth, until, in the last stanza, God has forgiven all and, “Then has thou Done, I fear no more.” See http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hymn-to-god-the-father/. The allusion fits the last line, since “Ask not for whom the bell tolls” is a line from John Donne’s most famous sermon.]
A Lemon? O Pee! (LMNOP)
All her farts were soprano and feminine,
With her turds each the size of an M and M,
She was cold and polite,
And would sit, knees squeezed tight--
You’d make juice could you but fit a lemon in!
A young man with his head up his ass
Was quite horribly troubled with gas,
And began to balloon!
As he rose toward the moon,
He was heard to cry, “This, too, shall pass!”
TURNING THE OTHER CHEEK—NO EPI-FANNY
Centerfold-bound, a model named Stephani
Was auditioned, but wouldn’t show Heff a knee,
Much less parts more notorious;
Though her cleavage was glorious,
She, to pleas (“Show me more!”), turned a deaf fanny.
(c) Dean Blehert 2014. All Rights Reserved.