2010 RE-CAP
All The Cat’s Limericks posted this year, on
If you wish, you may email this list to your friends, (or enemies, depending on how you feel about limericks,) by clicking the “envelope icon” at the bottom of this post, and filling in the email address(s). First: The Cat’s own limericks:
This winter, just north of Bordeaux,
A Frenchman got lost in the sneaux.
And as this is written,
His feet are frost-bitten.
They think he’ll be losing a teaux.
Appraisal of priceless antiques
Requires at least several wiques.
This sounds like bologna,
But some things are phogna,
And pedaled by swindlers and sniques.
The limerick is often risqué.
To write them like that doesn’t pue.
But when writing in haste,
Though I aim for the chaste,
I often get carried awue.
The farmer explained, with a laugh,
That his heifer gave birth to a caugh,
Yet gave him no cream,
As had been his dream,
Nor milk—but just haugh and haugh
Rabbit Limericks-- Arguing with myself over how to deal with the rabbits in my garden:
My garden is cursed by the rabbit
Who destroys as a matter of habbit.
Oh, for an owl
Or some other large fowl,
Or hawk that can swoop down and grabbit.
And then I thought:
Please spare me your rabbit invective.
An owl is not very effective.
Just use a four-ten;
He won’t bug you again.
A gun’s a much better corrective.
And then I thought, Hey!
A rabbit’s a source of good meat,
And reasonably yummy to eat.
Not as large as a heifer,
A good hasenpfeffer
Could still make my supper complete.
**********************
There once was an evil marquis
Who taxed all the peasants with gluis.
His cuisine was quite haute,
And wherever he’d gaute,
The crumbs would be given out fruis.
King Lewis, who was three apples high,
Was painted as blue as the sky.
Though his tint was superfluous,
They called him king Smurf-Lewis,
Until he could wash off the dye.
My favorite bike is the tamdem;
In fact, you can even expand ‘em.
They can be built for four,
Or for five or six more,
Or for integers chosen at random.
By pawning his father’s shillelagh
An Irish Hawaiian named Delagh
Obtained enough cash
To fix his old Nash,
And purchase a new Ukelelagh.
A professor who taught at Duquesne
Had reason to carp and compluesne.
His students were dense
As the posts of a fence,
And they drove the man nearly insuesne.
While reading the works of Voltaire
A banker was seized by a baire.
He argued that he
Had a right to be free,
But the creature had hold of his haire.
A fetishist lad from Helsinki
Whose motives for pastries were kinky
Molested some scones
Who had no chaperones
And had an affair with a Twinky.
“Grave robbing is just so macabre,”
Said the frightened young girl with a sabre.
“If we can’t rob the dead,”
The grave-robber sead,
“Then who in the heck can we rabre?”
Yes grave-robbing’s awfully macabre.
We’re never quite sure whom we rabre.
I may be a ghoul,
But I’m surely no fhoul.
This sucker’s a banker named Babre!
I suspect that Jean Baptist LaMarck
While wandering about in the darck,
Found his new theory
By asking the queory,
“Do these creatures all come from the arck?”
Burnt offerings given to Zeus
Might often involve a young geus;
Or maybe a ewe
Or a nanny goat tewe,
But rarely an elk or a meus.
A dealer in kitsch and in tchotchkes
Could sell you some clock keys or wotchkes,
Or a chastity belt,
And so it was felt,
Did a vigorous business in krotchkes.
If smoke leaves your lungs feeling rough,
You might just make this your last pough.
If you think once or twice,
You’ll take this advice,
And not just go off in a hough.
A rapist who hails from Bombay
Has a fetish for girls’ lingerie.
The rustle of crinolines
Excites his adrenalines,
But of course, they still get in the way.
Sounding the great highland pipes
Made the dogs emit howls, yips, and yipes.
With their paws on their ears,
And their eyes full of tears,
They begged me, “Please stop! Holy cripes!”
It seems that the very best pipers
All started while still wearing diapers,
And continued, I might mention,
Till drawing a pension,
From CALPERS, or OPERS, or IPERS.
Bernie Madoff with the money.
Some people suppose that it’s funny.
But I doubt if you’ll hoot,
If some of the loot,
Was taken from you and your honey.
An Arab whose lawn had been sowed
Some divine intervention was showed.
As though cut with a scythe
Was the character "Pi."
Surely this was the Pi Allah mowed.
Give her a red poinsettia
And I doubt that she'll ever forgettia.
But make sure she heaves
If she eats all the leaves,
Or else she will surely regrettia.
It seems that our medical arts
can patch up our livers and hearts,
Yet fail in the goal
Of treating the whole,
While fixing the various parts.
And finally, limericks by authors unknown:
There once was a fellow named Clarence
Who Simonized both of his parents.
The initial expense,
He said, was immense.
But he saved it on wearence and tearence.
There once was a girl from St. Paul
Who wore a newspaper dress to a ball.
The dress, it caught fire,
And burned her entire
Front page, sporting section and all.
The lady who’s wed to Montgomery
Says the wearing of clothes is mere mummery.
She has frequently tea’d in
The costume of Eden,
Appearing delightfully summery.
A woman who came from Antigua
Once said to her spouse,
“What a pigua!”
He answered, “My queen,
Is it manners you mean?
Or do you refer to my figua?”
