Limerick Ado (Limerick-Off Monday)
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same first line. Then you post your limerick here and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
The best submission will be crowned Limerick Of The Week. (Here’s last week’s Limerick Of The Week Winner.)
How will your poems be judged? By meter, rhyme, cleverness, and humor. (If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy about limerick writing rules, here’s my How To Write A Limerick article.)
I’ll announce the Limerick of the Week Winner next Sunday, right before I post next week’s Limerick-Off. So that gives you a full week to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday at 11:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
A fellow whose mortgage was due…*
or
A woman asked, “What shall I do?…”*
or
A woman at last got her due…*
or
“Stop telling me what I should do!…”*
*(Please note that minor variations to my first lines are acceptable. However, rhyme words may not be altered, except by using homonyms or homophones.)
Here’s my limerick:
Limerick Ado
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“Stop telling me what I should do!
You’re a shrew — I’m the glue of this crew.”
(Not a guy taking tough
To a friend — bad enough,
But a man to his boss. This he’ll rue!)
Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same first line and post it in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity on my Facebook Limerick-Off post.
To receive an email alert whenever I post a new Limerick-Off, please email Madkane@MadKane.com Subject: MadKane’s Newsletter. Thanks!
Tags: Boss Humor, Competition Limerick, Employment Humor, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Writing Prompts
The decline in my eyesight is due,
Says my doc, to a lesion or two
In my visual cortex,
So please don’t get sore, Tex —
I think I just peed on your shoe.
He’ll do what a ram likes to do
If a ram meets a lamb turning two.
We can only assume
Ovine love is in bloom
When a ram has a vroom with a ewe.
A wildebeest’s blue, and it’s due
To the shortage of does in the zoo.
He doesn’t know when
He’ll be mating again,
So he waits to go wooing a gnu.
His wife asked him, “What shall I do?
I’m pregnant – the father’s not you!”
“Just make up some story
Of wonder and glory –
An angel stopped by for a screw.”
I only require my due –
An honourable mention or two.
But I’ve never yet scored
At the Facebook award,
For my “friends” are regrettably few.
A fellow said “What should I do?
I can’t get my girl to come through.”
He consulted an owl;
“What you need”, said the fowl,
“Is to charm her – to wit, to woo.”
Moses complains of back problems:
“Stop telling us what we should do!
Commandments? OK, one or two,
But on marble, all ten?
Can’t You just use a pen
On a substance that’s light, like bamboo?”
My library book’s overdue,
But what can you possibly do?
Send me threatening mail
With the menace of jail?
Well, I’m already there, so screw you!
Says Daltrey to Townshend, “Let’s do
Find a drummer to add to our crew.”
“Roger that!” answers Pete,
“I hear Moon has the beat.”
So it’s Keith, then, who’s cast in The Who.
When a crone caused a London to-do
Hiding blades in the heel of her shoe,
And she carved up a dame
In a lav, she became
The old woman who shivved in a loo.
“I’m bewildered – oh, what shall I do?”
Cried the poor wildebeest in the zoo.
“An antelope, yes,
But I’m now in distress
Because I never knew I’m a gnu.”
There’s one task that my boy wouldn’t do
At our zoo: mucking wildebeest poo.
When he thought that I’d skipped
The poor creature, I quipped,
“There is nothing, son, under the gnu.”
I had nightmares, when young, that were due
To a ghost that was haunting our flue.
Now I’m older—but could,
When I’m adding some wood
To the fire, get spooked. Déjà boo!
Marijuana’s a drug I won’t do;
I don’t smoke it — and neither should you.
I’m not putting on airs
When I tell you that there’s
Not a ghost of a chance I’d use boo.
A young hen cried “What can I do?”
“I’m hopeless when I’ve had a few
I agree I’m not choosy
And they call me a floosy
Any cock round the yard’ll doodle doo
“\A woman asked, ‘What shall I
do?”
I saw the most beautiful ewe.
Should I photograph lambs,
And perhaps study rams?
Or stick to what I thought I gnu?
Stop telling me what I should do!
This is about ME, and not you!
You’ve ruined my life,
Caused nothing but strife.
About me, you haven’t a clue!
A young man whose mortgage was due
Was hoping the Bank would not sue.
To the Banker irate
He said “I m not late
I’ll give you my assets in loo.
A woman at last got her due.
She had, indeed, made quite a coup.
Her intelligence won
Her a place in the sun!
And now, her dream job she’ll pursue.
A woman cried “What shall I do?
I’m pregnant, but don’t know by who.
On vacation in Mali,
I had sex with Charlie,
But later that day, Tim bucked too.”
(Another old chestnut …)
Said Sartre, “To be is to do.”
Said Hamlet, “I wish that I knew;
That’s the problem for me –
Not to be, or to be?”
Said Sinatra “Doobee-doobee-doo.”
A woman at last got her due
After lining up guys in a queue
It was done on a dare
But she got quite a scare
Getting caught on a wooden church pew.
Stop telling me what I should do
When really you don’t have a clue.
Of the trouble I’m in
‘Cause there’s no way I win.
Knocked up two with only one screw.
Stop telling me what I should do
To get rid of this horrible flu
I tried some cheap scotch
Got a blotch on my crotch
And my head feels like slumgullion stew.
A woman asked, “What shall I do?…
I’ve just drunk my thirty first brew.
I’m feeling quite drawn
But the ship sails at dawn
And I promised I’d screw half the crew.
A woman asked, “What shall I do?”…
Had a night I’m starting to rue.
The guys were just fine
I do mean all nine
But for long I can’t bid them adieu.”
On the day that a bride says “I do,”
By tradition she wears something new,
Something borrowed, I’m told,
And of course something old,
While that night there’ll be something she blew.
There are things I’m forbidden to do
On Shabbat (I’m an Orthodox Jew):
Plow, sow, reap, weave, sew, dye,
Spin, warp, grind, cook, bake, fry,
Or write “Oy, is it kosher to boo?”
Said the Devil, “Your soul is now due,
And our contract’s not one I’ll renew.”
But God had to chortle:
“Tough luck, I’m immortal.
Besides, don’t you know I am you?”
Omigosh, we’ve got men (more than two),
in a pun-off quite clever all through,
if competing, be wary,
they’re so spot on its scary,
if for fun, just throw yours in BEAUCOUP!
On Sunday, you know what I do?
Write limericks, more than a few.
Yes, Sunday’s my verse-day,
But I’m growing thirsty –
It’s whisky time, so toodle-oo!
A woman tried everything new,
so she switched to Bing from Yahoo,
but then Google was piqued,
plucked her IP and tweaked
it to endlessly lengthen her queue.
A waked maiden was covered with dew,
having slept in her garden, askew;
said, “This damp condensation
does bear some relation
to my gardener’s deflowering how-to”!
A fellow whose mortgage was due,
speculated on worth to accrue;
his house deal was a rotter,
so he’s deep underwater,
now the note’s up the banker’s wazoo.

The boss wrote some lewd billets-doux
To a colleague he wanted to scroux
Using prose so inept
That they laughed ’til they wept
When she read them aloud to the croux.
It’s Springtime, and taxes are due.
But not for the wealthiest few:
They’re up to their poop-holes
In tax breaks and loopholes…
And who gets to pay for it? YOU.
Cried Mrs. Claus, “What can I do
To save Christmas? I haven’t a clue…
For a chimney stack crumbled
And Santa Claus tumbled,
And now he’s come down with the flue!”
No matter what you say or do
There’s always someone flinging poo.
But ignore the twit,
He will never quit.
Just please direct him to the loo.
His weakness is Tullamore Dew.
If they give him a tumbler or two,
Then his lips will unseal,
And it’s probable he’ll
Tullamore than he knows that he knew.
It’s all Humphrey Bogart can do
Not to give all the actors his flu.
As he tries not to sneeze,
With a slight gesture he’s
Telling Ingrid: “Here’s lurking achoo!”
(Kid.)
Stop telling me what I should do!
I promised to obey, that’s true
I’m your wife, not your slave
And if you can’t behave
Stuff those vows, I’m divorcing you!
French president Georges Pompidou
Asked wife Claude to try something new
Off they went to a spa
She had menage a trois
He left with a new point of view
The snapshots raised quite the to do
Caused Georges to scream sacrebleu
When it came out at trial
That Claude cracked smile
Just before lovers bid her adieu
A fellow whose mortgage was due
(Who recently got laid off, too)
Was pondering facets
Of life while his ass sets
Awaiting for closure’s adieu
A fellow asked, “What shall I do
With my brother, who drives me cuckoo?
He bought nasty fake scat,
Which he placed in my hat.
Now my hair is bedecked with sham poo.”
A woman asked ‘What shall I do?
Up the duff, but I don’t know who
Has dipped his wick
(Hubby’s had the snip)
I’m sorry I haven’t a clue’.
There is really not much we can do
To have hopes of a win in this crew
It seems pointless to toil
When the likes of Chris Doyle
Keep on cranking out winners, a slew… :-)
This month, when the mortgage is due,
We’ll be moving to South Timbuktu.
We’ve lined up a buyer;
Then we can retire,
If we don’t live past sixty-two.
The son asked, “Dad, what should I do?
I can’t have my Kate, and Edith too.”
His dad, who was smart,
Said, “Just look to your heart,
And then get off the pot, son, or poo.”
Dan’s wife kept her Dippity Do
In a jar on the dresser…Woohoo…
If it stiffens her hair,
Wondered Dan, do I dare?
Now Dan’s dippity ding-dong is blue.
The Captain had tried to subdue
His lust for a sailor or two.
But those months on the lugger
Induced the old bugger
To sample the stern of the crew.
I really don’t know what to do.
I dated a lawyer, who knew
How to trap me with come-ons;
I’ve just got a summons.
You guessed it – the lawyer’s called Sue.
We got drenched by the cold morning dew
While attempting an open-air screw.
My girl, giving head,
Had to sneeze, so instead
All she gave me that day was a chew!
The next morning, we set out to do
It again, but the weather, on cue,
Started snowing – we froze,
And her dear little nose
Was the only appendage she blew.
On the third day – I felt it her due –
I fed her some nourishing stew.
When she’d finished, I tried
For dessert, but she cried
“I’m too full now to swallow more goo!”
A young lass cried what can I do
He‘s shown me his didgeridoo
He wants me to play
What can I say?
My lips on his tip, no can do
So now we have learned what to do:
Stay home where it’s warm, and dry too.
Indoors, life is grand
With a bird in the hand,
But a bird in the bush gives you flu.
[Ooops! First word of last line above should be ‘But’.]
Note from Mad Kane: I fixed it.
A groovy dog named Scooby-Doo
Has a nose for the odd, spooky clue;
He rolls in a van,
Catching snacks where he can;
Bet he knows and he rolls doobie too.
Poor Kanga cried, “What shall I do?
My joey’s been lost at the zoo.
He’s gone out of pocket;
I fear that the croc et
My boy, whom I loved, now I rue.”
A woman who stepped in some doo,
Alas was bereft of a clue.
Of course she could tell
That a horrible smell
Came from somewhere–just not from her shoe.
A man who’d grown tired of his ‘do
Shaved his head like a ball (as in cue).
“I love my bald head,”
He joyfully said,
“So much that I wish I had two.”
They made love in the meadowy dew;
All around them, dawn’s heavenly hue;
Yet such bliss failed to bed
This refrain in her head:
“What a wee little pecker! Who knew?”
No sooner than saying “I do”
The groom began feeling quite blue
She lost the belt’s key
Preserving chastity
From this his condition since grew
Stop telling me what I should do!
Or voodoo revenge will ensue.
Hey, we’ll see who wins
When I stick these pins
In this homemade image of you!
A fellow whose fate had come due,
When captured by cannibals who
Dunked him deep in a pot,
Said, “This water’s quite hot.
I’ll escape, or my name isn’t Stu!”
Dr Spooner said: “Give me my due –
What they claim about me is untrue.
I can only surmise
That a great lack of pies
Turned my own wasteful turds into stew.”
Scooby dooby dooby doo
Brings back memories to me and you
Whether it’s a scary doggie bit
Or Sinatra’s crooney hit
The Mystery Machine by moonlight lit
Christie’s lawyer’s had plenty to do
To find out what went wrong and who knew.
Fin’lly, here is his pitch:
Bridget Kelly’s a bitch;
Mayor Zimmer’s a backbiting shrew.
A woman who paid what was due
Had bought billiard balls but no cue
So her hubby said “Quick
Can you get me a stick?”
And the Schtick that she got Schtuck like glue.
Do they have Schtickies in America?
Plain Jane had some bills overdue
And interest about to accrue
For the cost of her Botox
And a slice off her buttocks
But she didn’t get a frick-frou.
Christie’s lawyer’s had plenty to do
But his hard work has yielded a clue:
He’s uncovered a yawn.
The conclusion he’s drawn?
Mayor Z’s a duplicitous shrew.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun week of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Congratulations to the Limerick of the Week Winner, the Facebook Friends’ Choice Award Winner, and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 158.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick Ware.