Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: SCORE at the end of Line 1 or 2 or 5
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same rhyme word. Then you post your limerick as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick using SCORE at the end of Line 1 or Line 2 or Line 5. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
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 10:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my limerick:
A singer was trying to score
With a woman who thought him a bore.
Though he tried to impress her,
He’d never undress her
Cuz hearing his voice was a chore.
Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same rhyme word 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: Battle of the Sexes, Competition Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Music Humor & Verse, Poetry & Prompts, Singers, Singing Humor, Writing Prompts
The troops came and told me the score
About why they were fighting the war
“We make war, since you wonder
For pillage and plunder.”
I said “You’re corrupt!” to the corps.
My bank statement came through the door:
Of my pounds there remained a mere score.
But I could bounce back—
No more would I lakh
If only the sum were in crore!
The conductor examined the score:
“Very pretty, but what is it for?
I just wiggle my stick;
How to end is the trick –
When the orchestra stops, there’s no more.”
(A variant on an old story)
“If I offered a million to score,
Would you sleep with me?” “Sure!”
When he said “And ten bucks
For a couple of fucks?”,
She exclaimed “Do you think I’m a whore?”
One night I was looking to score
To the brothel I went for a whore
I arrived at the whorehouse
And asked “Is this your house?”
She said “Yes. Come in the back door.”
Well, I got past the dreaded three score
And ten, and I’ve added two more.
All those years simply flew
To reach seventy-two –
“Half a gross” is a term I deplore.
He had heard it so often before;
A dozen times daily? A score?
He detested the word,
So he strangled the bird.
Nevermore would he hear “Nevermore!”
Allusions there were by the score
(The metre; a raven; Lenore)
In my parody terse.
But so few knew Poe’s verse
That there seemed little point. Nevermore…
He took up his chisel to score
A design on his new stable-door.
When the horse tried to bolt
He just took out his Colt
And shot it. His colt is no more.
The guy was determined to score
With the bimbo who lived just next door.
When he begged her “Let’s do it”,
She thought he said “Chew it”;
He ended up feeling quite sore.
I believe in my dream that a score
Of young girls with sweet pussies implore
Me to lick every part.
I awake with a start –
My cat is there, licking her paw.
Maybe the title of the previous one should be “Pussy licking” …
With the aim to impress (and to score!)
He recounted his life—an outpour!
Aeons later said, “Phew!
“So, tell me about you?”
(He’d to shake her awake first therefor.)
A furious gal knew the score,
She was his GF, not his whore,
He took her for granted.
She was disenchanted..
Then make love with him? NEVERMORE.
A hot guy was able to score,
He’d say to each gal, “Je t’adore!”
He hung like a horse,
A huge factor, of course,
They all would come begging for more.
How many were killed? What’s the score?
It’s not a game; we are at war.
Gun loving, NRA
Keeps restrictions at bay
We can’t allow this, any more..
He wrote a dynamic film score,
Great music, one could not ignore.
Enhancing the mood,
It did not intrude.
The audience clamored for more!
Aaarghh! A senior moment! The second line in my second limerick higher up is two syllables short. I was fooled because the number of letters made the line look long enough. Here’s a corrected version:
(A variant on an old story)
“If I offered a million to score,
Would you let me have sex with you?” “Sure!”
When he said “And ten bucks
For a couple of fucks?”,
She exclaimed “Do you think I’m a whore?”
(… conclusion of story)
“With all due respect”, replied he,
We’ve established, I think you’ll agree,
What you are beyond doubt.
Now we’re haggling about
The amount you’ll accept as your fee.”
Seeing ‘Rubdowns’ displayed on the door,
He walked in with the hope he would score.
And the prices looked nice
(Sure with out any ‘Spice’),
But ‘To Score’ he soon learned would cost more.
(Something to remember as the 2016 election nears)
Seven years more than four score,
Said Lincoln, who struck at the core
Of our country’s great dreams:
Though it’s split at the seams,
May our nation be one evermore.
The USA rugby fans clearly deplore
The rather depressing last Springbok game score;
Brave attempts were not tries;
Goal not met; no surprise
That they ran out a zero against sixty-four.
You measure an achievement by a score,
And twenty gives it meaning that is more,
But you also score with sex;
Music scores, one notes, may vex;
With scores of scores as scores in scores – all four?
Mickey Rooney and Zsa Zsa Gabor
Had, between them, romances galore.
Of these numerous flings,
Seventeen traded rings
With the subjects (but who’s keeping score?).
(Mr. Rooney wed eight times before his death in 2014; Ms. Gabor, still with us at age 98, has had nine husbands [so far].)
If intelligent, you know the score,
The rich corporations want more.
They buy politicians
To front their positions;
‘Cause profits are all they stand for.
The cobbler was getting quite sore
As her feet were size 12’s and much more
She wanted more laces
And made dirty faces
With an awl he settled the score
Jim’s blue ball was getting more sore
Even struck out with the town whore
He purchased Bolero
To catch Cupid’s arrow
With each climax Jim found a score
Saw “The Martian” last night. What a bore!
Those two hours seemed much more like four.
So-so script, acting tired,
Effects uninspired,
Topped off by a substandard score.
I wanted to screw old Lenore.
She opened her legs so I’d score.
But when I took a peek,
I let out a big shriek,
‘Cause her twat oozed a big canker sore.
A baker in downtown Lahore
Had a float of rupees—a mere score.
But he could bounce back—
No more would he lakh
If only the sum were in crore!
(A variation of the above in a more topical setting.)
You’re a flake, and an ass, and a bore,
You’re a snake in the grass, and what’s more,
You’re a fake, and so crass,
A mistake with no class,
But it’s not as if I’m keeping score.
GET OUT THERE AND
LOSE ONE FOR THE BOEHNER
The Red Team has tilted the Floor
So the Blue Team can’t possibly score;
If the playing field’s level,
They howl like the devil,
And don’t want to play any more.
Of these movies, there’s more than a score
The next one will make 24*
And in all the Bond flicks
There are plenty of chicks
You could say that there’s pussy galore.**
*The 24th, called Spectre, debuts in London in two weeks, and worldwide on Nov 6.
**Pussy Galore (really?) is one of the Bond girls, from the movie Goldfinger, the 3rd film in the series.
It isn’t just kids at the shore
Who know what a wingman is for:
When Delius woos
His recalcitrant muse,
It’s Fenby who helps him to score!
(Frederick Delius, paralyzed at the end of his life, relied on his amanuensis Eric Fenby to write down the music he dictated from his bed)
That new composition’s a bore:
Just hear how the listeners snore
(The composer, though, knows
That they’re likely to doze:
He’s written them into the score)!
There was a young virgin, Lenore
Who’d never before had a score
When given the dildo
She wan’t too thrilled. Oh,
She didn’t know what it was for.
I knew that our new rhyme word “score”
Would bring out the crude poems galore
Some, pretty disgusting
Outrageous and lusting
Don’t think I can take anymore.
If you think I’m a prude and a bore
Listen close, so that you know the score
If I’m with the right man
I’ll do all that I can
To fulfil his desires and more.
A fellow who’s known as a bore
Was restless and ready to score
When getting romantic
He soon became frantic
When she fell asleep and would snore.
The orchestra played on the floor
As female fans pushed through the door
Backstage they all waited
Their lust unabated
Composers are known for their score!
A bombshell too hot to ignore
She knew she would let her man score
It’s like the first time
And the feeling’s sublime
So they did it a hundred times more.
Jocasta, while offering more
Than a mother had given before
Said ‘I’m going to have sex
With Oedipus Rex,
It’s one way a woman can score.
Will, continuing the musical theme in a rather scurrilous and unfair vein:
“Billy Budd” is a wonderful score,
Though, as homophobes often deplore,
It’s a men-only do.
But the Stern of the Crew
The composer was known to adore.
Sylvia, if only he’d known …
But if someone had told him the score,
Oedipus would have run through the door.
“Kill my dad? Screw my mum?
That would surely be dumb,
And extremely short-sighted, what’s more.”
An ad man was bragging once more
About all of the chicks he could score.
The bartender’s grin
Said “I’m hearing the gin;
‘Cause most nights, he can’t find the door.”
The coach said “I really abhor
Your allowing their much higher score.
If you fail in this half
To abolish that gaffe,
I’ll be running your ass out the door!”
When ze girl from Paree says “Alors,”
Mon ami, you are going to score
Even better, her mouth
Will head far to the south
If you whisper “Cherie, je t’adore”
What can I believe any more?
I doubt everything to its core,
‘Cause most isn’t true
And I don’t believe you.
And pols will say things just to score.
Everyday I take four pills or more
They’re procured from my local drug store
When I rise, green, pink, red
Blue capsule before bed
And if lucky, two whites with a score.
I know what the blue one is for
I think it just might help you score
You’ll seem so darn gallant
With unbridled talent
The ladies will want an encore.
Jesus said to get through heaven’s door
That we have to take care of the poor
Republicans tease as
Their “party of Jesus”
Has flagrantly failed on that score.
Men get wide-eyed by Viagra’s lore
About hard ons that last up to four
Hours, but if it came true
I would know what to do:
Screw at least ten times, maybe a score!
Whenever you’re ready to score,
Our product can help with the chore.
With just one little pill
You’ll keep going until
You’re both really happy – or sore.
The defense always rallies to score
While the offense continues to snore
It’s not Manning’s fault
Ctrl, Del, Alt
Reboot the roster once more
This legend, the great Bobby Orr
He knew how to shoot, how to score
A defenceman so fearless
Performance just peerless
They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
“Oh, Henry,” says Candy, the whore
She Snickers, “would you like to Skor?
For a modest PayDay
You’ll have your Milky Way.”
But his Aero has hurt her; she’s sore.
The pattern is put on the floor,
A sharp blade used to trace and score.
That’s all it will take
For stained glass to break-
As hurtful words cut to my core.
She wished to improve on her score
And hired a golf pro named Thor.
As they worked on her stance,
She saw in a glance –
His driver was up for the chore.
Back in the days of yore
If a man wanted to score
He got a little feel
And he felt like a heal
Now he’s in the front and out the back door
Some say the Democratic Debate was a snore,
others were concerned about the score–
who won, who lost, who shined;
but it was just the same old grind,
Let’s show these politicians the door.
Ha! Poor guy. Will try and come back later and write my own limerick.
There once lived in Paris a bore
so ugly he never would score
but when he conceals
his penis in steal
he turn easily girls into whores
(sorry.. but I have always thought Limericks should be a little dirty)
GO CUBS!
“Darling, what’s the score?”
“I believe it’s 3 to 4”
“Do you think the Cubs will win?”
He said with a grin
“Their foot’s finally in the door!”
HEEL!
The romantics will call it “amour,”
Whereas boys of all ages say, “Score.”
For each lady and guy,
Whether gay, straight or bi,
There’s just one thing we want of it: more.
Poor man! he tried so hard and his singing was also a bore.
Midnight road.. a walk alone..
Keep moving.. make a score..
a score is more.. rhymes with i..
Who can i be.. but a work of lUSt..
Oh.. rubbER gLoves.. reAlly.. i MusT..;)
Rightfully incensed she had points to score
Bidding his time bent on irritating her more
Pushed some clever tactics
With strategic humor mix
To ensnare her heart rather than just a bore
Mad: I should know better than to say foot instead of feet.
“Their FEET are finally in the door.”
A man is not a HEAL; he’s a HEEL.
Could you fix it for me?
I knew a man who loved to score
He bragged to the ladies; what a bore!
One day I said
“Before you drop dead
Sign here; you’re my husband no more”
Note from Mad Kane: I’m not sure which limerick you want corrected. Please just re-post your limerick as you want it to appear.
We in Chicago adore
The team that we cheer for
We hope the boys in blue
Will manage to get through
And win the triumphant score
Not a duplicate
Back in the days of yore
If a man wanted to score
He got a little feel
And felt like a heel
Now he’s in the front and out the back door
Dearest, why do you roar?
“Because it’s one to four!
“Do you think the Cubs will win?
He said with a grin:
It’s time for their centennial score!
The man that I adore
Is always keeping score
He said my body’s colder
Because I’m getting older
“What do you expect ; I’m ninety four”
St. Peter would tally the score
To decide who he’d let through the door.
“Carter, 5 – it’s your day.
Clinton, 1 – well, OK.
Bush? Sorry, you’re still minus 4.”
Reinventing Biology
The fungi sent out a sweet spore
To his fun-gal who couldn’t ignore
Its lure, pheromonal.
She responded, full zonal,
And they had baby ‘shrooms by the score.
He wrote little poems before,
but his teachers gave a bad score.
He tried once again,
on Twitter made friends.
Now writing’s no longer a chore.
@the_release_101
Ha ha – I love this one. Some day I would like to try writing a limeric….
You’re a bully, an oaf and a boor,
And, if anyone cares to keep score,
You were bad at your job.
Let’s be honest, you slob:
It’s a joke that you ever beat Gore.
I’m blind and I’m deaf; what’s the score?
This ball game is really a bore
Two senses I’ve lost
And it sadly has cost
Me my sanity down to the core.
There’s a man at the Jersey shore
Who says he really knows the score
We went to Asbury Park
And necked in the dark
It hasn’t been updated since the Viet Nam war
Priscilla really knows the score
She’s relentless, intense and totally hardcore
Look for her on Second street
That is her usual beat
Just ask for a lady called Prissy Galore
Hey Mad, I should probably tell you there’s a hidden pun in L5 of my candy bar limerick. See if you can spot it. Also, I used the title “Turning Twix” at Phil Graham’s site.
(Note from Mad Kane: I’m guessing either a reference to aero-gymnastics, which could definitely hurt. Or possibly some outer space reference back to the Milky Way.)
Tim, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Gore win the popular vote?
(From Mad Kane: Yes, Gore did. But Bush won the Supreme Court vote. :))
His need to make love to a whore
Led him down a dark path to a score.
He awoke from a stupor
And proclaimed,”I am super.
Beyond that all I know is I’m Thor.”
A limerick writer was sore.
He could not seem to get past line four.
It was then that he sought
Some comfort in thought –
“I know more is less, less is more.”
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 and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 235.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Burn.