Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: WASTE or WAIST at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: April 30, 2022)
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(s) as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing limericks using WASTE or WAIST at the end of ANY ONE LINE. (A homonym or homophone not listed here may be used in lieu of the designated rhyme word.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to COMMUNICATION, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best COMMUNICATION-related limerick.
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 winners on May 1, 2022, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you two full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, April 30, 2022 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my WASTE or WAIST-rhyme limerick:
Said a fellow, “Alas and alack,
My new pants are too tight in the back
And the front of the waist.
(They were ordered in haste.)
I need someone to cut me some slack.”
And here’s my COMMUNICATION-themed limerick:
Dear hubby, you’re right in the kitchen,
And I’m elsewhere, so though you are itchin’
To share rumors or views,
A complaint or the blues,
I can NOT hear your news, schmooze, or bitchin’.
Please feel free to enter my Limerick-Off by posting your limerick(s) 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: Alterations Humor, Clothing Humor, Communication Humor, Communication Limerick, Competition Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Marriage Humor, Marriage Limerick, Pants Humor, Poetry & Prompts, Slacks Humor, Writing Prompts
“Your Five Minutes Are Up”
Tried “speed dating” , then Charlie placed
His hand right on mine, (in good taste.)
We rushed to his bed;
Where a hooker was dead.
Mama Mia Marone! Haste Makes Waste!
Senior Hill
“Bessie, darling, try hard to be kind.
Don’t you realize you’re very inclined
To ask what I’m thinking
Ev’ry second I’m blinking!
Do you think I can read my own mind?”
We schlepped to Milan in great haste.
“The Last Supper” was missing a taste.
Okay, there was fish,
Which is always delish.
But where was dessert? What a waste!
When she married him (somewhat in haste),
She had an incredible waist.
Now she carries twin boys
But remembers past joys
Though she’s no longer followed (or chaste!).
Arrived home; saw a note on the door,
“When you’d gone; found your key on the floor.
I’m not home so don’t ring.
Don’t despair, here’s the thing:
There’s a spare in the third kitchen draw.”
I wrote her a sexy love letter.
She said she got wetter and wetter,
And wants me to phone ‘er
A pic of my boner.
Such romance don’t get any better.
Communication: The Key
On the day of our nuptials, ol’ Pappy
Said ,”Son, she’s a gonna’ get yappy.
Now’s the time you must choose
If you’ll win or you’ll lose
Do you want to be right or be happy?”
L3&4 Rhymes/ doesn’t rhyme (sorry/ not sorry).
FYI: SMS message sent
To me. NFI what it meant.
Am I hacked? Just my luck!
OMG! WTF?
I abbreviate cuz I’m a gent’.
The Duke thought his wife would be chaste
With a chastity belt round her waste,
But her lover, perverted,
Soon had her inverted,
And “by the back door” they embraced.
“It’s considered the height of good taste,
For young ladies to say that they’re chaste.
Or it was, way back when.
Things have altered since then.
Now, they’re loath to let the time go to waste.”
“It’s considered the height of good taste,
For young ladies to say that they’re chaste.
Or it was, way back when.
Things have altered since then.
Now, they’re loath to let time go to waste.”
Sorry, didn’t notice I’d let ‘the’ in the last line.
There’s one English word (when you’re stuck)
Whose meanings could fill up a truck.
There’s no prize for knowing
Where this Lim’rick’s going:
You’ve guessed it, – but Who gives a Fuck?
Communicating’s not always what said,
Sometimes you can take it as read.
And there’s often a way
NOT to say, but convey
With a wink or a nod of the head.
Said the sultan, “I can’t abide waste!”
When informed he had wives still unchased.
“Send me one every night.
I won’t rest till it’s right!
And one now, p’raps – a little foretaste.”
“Fitting snuggly around a girl’s waist,
A man’s mitts are most handily placed
To move down and to squeeze,
Or move upwards with ease …
Till a slap has his movements retraced.”
Communication Without Words
I’m Ms. Tactic, I always advise.
A maneuver which all men despise.
Now why bother talking?
Which ends up with balking.
This gesture’s called, “rolling the eyes.”
When young I would always made haste.
My life then was surly fast paced.
The calories burned,
But things quickly turned.
Now much of my food goes to waist.
Correction to line one.
When young I would always make haste.
My life then was surly fast paced.
The calories burned,
But things quickly turned.
Now much of my food goes to waist.
My photo on “Match” has been placed
With a view, so I’ll look real unchaste.
It shows my huge breasts.
I get lots of requests.
All those pics have been cropped at the waist.
Correction of line 5 of above limerick
My photo on “Match” has been placed
With a view, so I’ll look real unchaste.
It shows my huge breasts.
I get lots of requests.
And that picture’s been cropped at the waist.
When young had control of my waist.
My life then was much faster paced.
I now sit around
A lot more I have found,
And I never let food go to waste.
Communication theme
Sometimes there’s no need to be heard,
Declaring with nary a word
An action’s repulsive.
Your response, quite impulsive:
Dramatically flipping the bird.
“You humans are oddly strait-laced
Reproducing, then feeling disgraced,”
The aliens scoff
As they get themselves off.
“Having more than one sex is a waste.”
A Senior Chat
“Mildred, darling, please go for a test.
Your hearing is not at its best.”
“Sid, I’ve told you before
And I’ll tell you once more:
Don’t mention my real hairy chest”.
Communicating with nature
At the center of our window view.
A red bud tree makes its debut.
It’s bright full of color
And signals another
Year, for the spirit to renew.
If I See food, I can’t help but taste.
If it’s sea food, I’ll not be outpaced.
So I run to keep fit
And consume every bit
That would otherwise just go to waist.
Computer Lessons At Old Age Hill
“These lessons we’ve had are a waste!
I give up; it is just a disgrace!
Can’t copy or cut.
I’m stuck in a rut.
And anyway, where’s all the paste?”
Miscommunication?
Well, talking to you is a waste
You make yourself out to be chaste
But out on the road
Your wild oats are sow’d
It seems that you’re really two-faced
Perhaps this title should have been “Miss Communication?”
correction of limerick from today at 7:58 PM (rhyming error)
“Computer Lessons For The Aged”
“These lessons we’ve had are a waste.
In that class, I feel very displaced.
I can’t copy or cut.
I’m stuck in a rut.
And anyway, where’s all the paste?”
A new way of communicating
Oh Johnny, you’re overly-sexed.
And that always makes me real vexed.
Don’t try to deny it.
There’s no way I will buy it.
I can tell by the tone of your text.
This Easter we cooked without tact
and our dinner tables were all stacked
with overfilled plates!
So to avoid any waste,
we’re having leftovers till Jesus comes back!
There was a young chap called St. Jude
Who bathed every day in the nude.
Stuff south of the waist
Was unwashed and chaste;
For Jude, in the nude, was a prude.
Our commune’s the best in the state;
The drugs and the flowers are great.
When I look in Kate’s eyes
She smiles back and sighs;
It’s easy to commune with Kate.
Her family was very strait-laced
And expected her to stay chaste;
That rule disappeared
The night she got speared,
Saying “Life without sex is a waste.”
She led her attacker a chase
That came to an end, face-to-face;
Before he did harm
She raised her right arm,
And gave him a snootful of Mace.
The middle-aged woman was graced
With a younger, much envied trim waist;
It wasn’t her diet,
She just remained quiet,
While keeping her corset tight-laced.
Our physical bodies don’t quit.
Transmitting intention, admit.
The words that we choose,
Can often confuse.
But bodies emit all, . . . oh shit!
or
But bodies emit all our shit!
Either way, body language often communicates more than words.
The notion of haste making waste
Though simple, is rarely embraced.
Another we know
Seems more likely to show:
More pasta with waist-making paste.
“Your call is important to us.
Please hold. Do not fuss. Do not cuss.
And now I must say,
It’s been a long day.
Goodbye cuz I can’t miss my bus.”
(Hello? Hello? Hello?)
another version “Are You A Real Person?”
“Your call is important to us.
Please hold, and try hard not to cuss.
It’s now time to say
We’re closed for the day.
Goodbye, gotta’ go catch my bus.”
She knows how to squeeze her toothpaste
Methodically, without haste
Down to the last nurdle
Boy is she frugal
Making sure none goes to waste
Another Failure To Communicate (lines 3 and 4 actually rhyme)
A Tribute To New Jersey, Brooklyn and Chicago
Today we will go to the shaw,
But first we will to to the staw.
Let’s take along Merry
And Hairy and Lairy.
And that’ll make one two tree faw.
More Accurate
Today we will go to the shaw
But foist we will go to the staw.
Now youse go wit Lairy
And I’ll go wit Hairy.
And dat’ll make one two tree faw.
“I want you all to communicate,
And take the time to collaborate”;
The no-nonsense boss
Got his message across,
And everyone started to fornicate.
An aging relationship theorist
Was dying, so summoned his Dearest.
To you, my dear Bill
Here’s ’the lot’ in my will,
So prepare to be sued by my Nearest.
I cancelled my cards in great haste
But my wandering wallet I’ve traced.
I thought it was lost
But I found to my cost
It was merely misplaced – what a waste.
Time spent cooking is not to my taste
Hot stove laboring leaves me red-faced
It’s the fast food for me
Though I have to agree
With the adage that says haste makes waist
Grow bigger than one might desire
Though the admen entice the poor buyer
To indulge in this slop
And it’s so hard to stop
Even when one has grown a spare tire
In recliner with laptop, obsessed.
My cat wanted up – no request.
I said “no”, in a tizzy.
“Can’t you see that I’m busy”?
Then felt twenty pounds land on my chest.
Animals Communicate Too
Took a walk with my dog and my cat.
My kitty said, “Let’s chew the fat.”
I asked my dog, Zeek,
“Did you know cats could speak?”
He said, “Yes, we’ve had many a chat.”
I canoodled her down past her waist.
But something was wrong with the taste.
It was overly dry.
And I think I know why:
She didn’t remember to baste.
Daisy Delilah from Delhi,
delights horny men with her belly.
A pity her waist
is a wee bit misplaced:
The sight ain’t jolly, just JELLY!!!
Here is a palimrick of mine : Proverb + Limerick :
The old proverb said: “Haste makes waste!”,
This is why things are timed and spaced
Walter wanted a quickie,
Alas! It would be sticky;
A year passed, he was still on Lucy’s waist .
The old proverb said: “Haste makes waste!”,
This is why things are timed and spaced
Walter wanted a quickie,
With all his manners cranky
A year passed, he was still on Lucy’s waist .
Just never let food go to waste
By cooking with just too much haste
Slow cooking gives much better smell
And finally you always tell
Slow cooking just gives the best taste.
COMMUNICATION
In my youth we just had a dial phone
So we never heard digital tone
Call answer was slow
It was always just so
And impatience one just could not condone.
International calls were no dance
They had to be booked in advance.
So tiresome we just had to wait,
A process we all came to hate,
So to connect we tried clairvoyance!
She’d no interest in sating his lust
But her efforts to tell him went bust.
Then she hit on a way
Her disgust to convey:
With but one single finger, upthrust.
Mad: please delete my Limerick at 19th. 10.44am. Thanks.
Double Duty
Satellites above Earth do not waste
Precious time bouncing signals ground based.
My Lim’s in Mad’s blog
By the time I’ve poured grog,
But before I’ve had time for a taste.
By and large, my anatomy’s graced,
With things useful and fittingly placed.
But that layer of jelly
That serves as my belly,
For the most part, I think, is a waste.
Communication With Your Doctor
“I’ve been waiting for hours, Doc Goo!
And that makes me terribly blue!
I have something to say
Which I need to convey:
Doc Goo, I’m not ready for YOU!”
(so there)
I want not because I don’t waste
Time in yearning for persons displaced
If one does me wrong
Then we’ve sung our swan song
No way to re-tube the toothpaste
Mother scolded him hundreds of times
For speaking to her in just rhymes.
They had a big fight,
But he knew she was right;
And now that young man only mimes.
He considered the code a resource
And Dashed off to enrol in a course.
He arrived on the Dot
But just missed the last spot.
His only recourse was re-Morse.
The dying of suns can be traced
To matter, by sentience graced!
Thus, I am a tsar
Who hails from a star
While you’re all just nuclear waste!
A dyslexic old man from Manhattan
Read the Bible in English and Latin
Then glanced at his bed
With a heart full of dread
For he knew he could not reject satin.
A lying old actor named Drouth,
Who was trained in a hamlet down south,
Was hard to abide
(theatrics aside),
‘Cause he talked through both sides of his mouth.
My vet’s recent message (in text)
Said your pig is not well, – he’s quite vexed.
Since his favourite sow
Became barbecue chow
He’s disgruntled, and thinks that he’s next.
The 1920’s
All the “fellas” knew Grandma was chaste.
Her corset was cinched ’round the waist.
Yet they still gave a wink
When Granny wore pink,
And was stylishly satined and laced.
Chapter Two
All the gents thought that Grandma was chaste.
With that corset cinched tight round’ her waist.
But the nights she wore pink,
All the” fellas” would wink.
And by 12, she was wasted and laced.
This might not be in the best taste —
A tip for the not too straight-laced.
If fellatio’s your thing,
Go on, have your fling!
But more than a mouthful’s a waste.
Since her diet was solely fat-based,
A full-figured physique she embraced.
Said the wife of Jack Sprat
As she ate all the fat,
“Let it go to my waist, not to waste.”
The expression, “It’s going to waste,”
Can mean a meal’s not to my taste.
But a meal which is grand
Makes my stomach expand,
Which also means “going to waist”.
correction of limerick at 1:48AM April 18th.
“From Michael”
“You imply that I’m overly-sexed.
That offends me and now I am vexed.
Susie, do not deny it
I simply won’t buy it.
I can tell by the tone of your text.”
Another version.
In recliner with laptop, obsessed.
My cat wanted up – no request.
I said “no”, in a tizzy.
“Can’t you see that I’m busy”?
Then felt twenty pounds on my chest.
“Thank you, Rud’ for your timely advice.
Words of wisdom, succinct and precise.
Who will now go ahead?
Won’t they rather, instead
Say, ‘On second thoughts, tea would be nice.’?”
That was a communication Limerick, just to be clear.
Dining out, if young Mabel’s unable,
To connect with her boyfriend by cable,
Neither vexed nor perplexed,
She then sends him a sext,
And she does it all under the table.
Oh Marone! Enough!
My Mario, “yakety yak.”
Always givin’ me some kinda’ flak.
I’d sure had enough,
So I played it real tough
And tied both his hands ’round his back.
The Ricardo’s
To the viewers it always was plain
That this wacko was low in the brain.
When Ricky found out,
He always would shout,
“What now, Lucy! How do you splain?”
Simple Communication
Let’s face it, this lady was spacey.
George knew what to say just incase he
Heard too many tales
About fam’ly travails:
An effortless, “Say goodnight Gracie.”
Communication
I guess I am kind of a nut,
Cuz sometimes I sit on my butt
And casually send
This text to a friend:
“I’ve got the dead body. Now what?”
A young Frenchman fell hard for a Dane,
But no linguist, he couldn’t explain.
Driven mad with desire,
He sought ways to expire.
His amour said, “I think he’s in Seine.”
Communication and horse sense:
When Mae asked for a roll in the hay,
Dickie Long didn’t know what to say.
Snickered Mae, “No remorse!
You are hung like a horse!
Take this gal for a ride. Don’t say neigh!”
Not too literary for y’all, I hope.
Kurt Vonnegut’s aliens were smart,
And their language did set them apart.
They spoke not a word,
But they made themselves heard.
They loudly would tap dance and fart.
“Zog arrived on Earth …from Margo, a planet where the natives conversed by means of farts and tap dancing.”
–Kurt Vonnegut, “The Dancing Fool”
In their guidance on masks, CDC
Insists, “Folks, we are not yet home free!”
Yet, since no one can presage
The future, their message
Detractors dismiss as debris.
The Catholic school girls, pure and chaste,
Watch their public school peers, in their haste
To get laid, soon contract
STDs that distract
From past escapades set below waist.
A newlywed guy took a taste
Of his bride’s special sauce, then made haste
To get out and around
Till he finally found
Something better: industrial waste.
Mabel:
A handsome man who liked moisted taste,
Put his firm and strong arm round Mabel’s waist;
Then the girl said : ‘Oh, please, please,
Please, make it with a long squeeze;
Next morning the girl found her dress well-pressed .
A Better Mario, (My Marito)
My Mario, yakety yak.
Always givin’ me some kinda’ flak.
But now he feels weak.
Is unable to speak.
Cuz I tied both his hands round his back.
Urgent memos descend from on high,
Filter down and are read with a sigh.
“Day-to-day dulls their edge
At this end of the wedge,
So, no promises, boss, but we’ll try.”
Feeling hot as his beating heart raced;
He admired her fine hour-glass waist,
But was not doing well
As he felt himself swell,
Cuz her corset and his drink were laced.
When the Hour-glass waist that he faced,
Burst out of its corset, – He braced!
It exposed her true figure;
Unbelievably bigger:
Sands of Time had begun to lay waste.
Trying hard for their lewdness to smother,
“Who’s he?” asked the nuns of the Mother
“Sir Galahad the Chaste,”
“OMG-what a waste!
Do you know if the knight has a brother?”
Sweet and slow his hands slid round her waist
“I’m your slave,” professed he, and embraced
His sweet turtledove –
Who then spat with a shove,
“I’M supposed to be used and debased…!”
(My attempt at a WAIST and COMMUNICATION limerick)
School lunch was a dish of calves’ brain,
And the master was heard to complain:
“Seems they don’t like the taste –
Stupid boys1 Wicked waste!
That food could be eaten again!”
CORRECTION (sorry)
Sweet and slow his hands slid round her waist
“I’m your slave,” professed he, and embraced
His sweet turtledove –
Who then spat with a shove,
“You said I would be used and debased…!”
(My attempt at a WAIST and COMMUNICATION limerick)
My husband fought hearing aids viciously,
So, I stopped talking to him quite maliciously,
Shouting was a waste,
But my mood’s improved post haste,
Now he wears these contraptions religiously!
My husband’s a stranger to kitchenware,
To ask him to cook we don’t dare.
Costly groceries he’d waste,
He can’t bake, broil, or baste
But his dishwashing’s done with such flair!
Sighed a cannibal, “This one’s a waste,”
And gave up on the quarry he chased.
He could see that the chump
In a tee that read, “Trump,”
Was a guy clearly lacking in taste.
My phone line’s been down (as you know),
But they’ve finally got it to go.
It just drove me insane;
Glad it’s back on again, –
Missed ou.. d..ys of ..ong ch..a..t..ing, …. Hello?….
“Won’t you let me explain?” “No, I won’t!”
“Don’t you want to know why?” “No, I don’t!”
“But I need to confess
Why I watched you undress.”
“You’re a dirty old man – it’s your wont.”
A young lover both ardent and true,
Felt compelled to compose billets-doux.
But a lack of finance,
Called a halt to romance,
When she told him, “Pay up, or we’re through.”
With a slim fitter on her waist
Peak her ambition for a taste
For a small waist-line
In a short amount of time
So she wrapped herself in tight lace
He continues to call his love
She didn’t answer inside the pub
She ignores his call
Not wanting to fall
In love with a clueless gov’t
Sleepy Joe hasn’t a clue what to do
‘Bout the mess he created, it’s true.
His VP is a waste,
They’re both a disgrace,
Till they’re gone, we’ll be totally screwed!
(In the interest of fair play in view of a previous political post).
*****
From Mad Kane:
Although this obviously isn’t a political limerick contest, political opinion limericks from both sides of the aisle are welcome here, as long as they fit into the rhyme word or theme. (Needless to say, misinformation isn’t welcome. But fortunately, in my many years of running this contest, that has never been a problem.)
Now that 51 pounds I’ve displaced,
With an awful dilemma I’m faced:
Should I look at my piles
Of huge clothing with smiles —
“What a waist!” — or with frowns — “What a waste!”
“Let’s play Post Office!” cried the young miss,
As she offered her face for a kiss —
But he stood her in line
From eleven to nine
Without letting her dine, drink, or piss.
Mum and dad: neither one was strait-laced
So, their courtship, in short, was fast-paced.
The result of one spree,
Nine months later, was me,
Thus, the padre had no time to waste.”
The Depression
Mama said, “Children, please never waste
Any food, it cannot be replaced.
So please share this fig.
It came from the twig
Where Adam and Eve first embraced.”
A mind is a sad thing to waste,
An issue you might not have faced.
But when all’s said and done,
To waste it is fun.
It’s sadder to leave it misplaced.
Fat Granny preached, “Dress in good taste.”
So I bought her a frock which was based
On her ethics, this gift
Widely known as a shift.
Was perfect, cuz “Gran” had no waist.
There’s been no response to my calling.
It’s bad business, I find it appalling.
The deadline’s tonight
Call me back, Keep it tight, –
Your repartee’s hardly enthralling.
This deduction is totally based
On my life, (not determined in haste)
If it feels just sublime
When you’re wasting your time,
Then wasting your time’s not a waste.
Communication In The Olden Days
Grandpa Joe said, “I’ll never forget ‘er.
In this world, there was nobody better”
He kept her perfume,
(Which stinks up the room)
And some thingamabob called a letter.
At the clairvoyant’s words my heart sank
She said my dead Dad’s name was Hank.
“No! It’s Earnest” I said
“And MY name is Fred,
Though right now I’m just being Frank”
(This is an alternative version of the limerick higher up.)
The Duke thought his wife would be chaste
With a chastity belt round her waist,
But her lover inverted
Her, simply inserted
His … By “the back door” they embraced.
“’Unexamined, our lives are a waste!’
So said, Socrates. (Yes, paraphrased.) (Yes, I know it’s liberty, Rudy.)
Ah, but when to engage?
I am not a young age,
And the years now rush by with great haste.”
Inspiration: R. Landesman April 25th 2022 2:48pm
Attempting Not To Use “just” :)
This conclusion is totally based
On my life, (not determined in haste):
If you’re feeling sublime
While wasting your time,
Then wasting your time’s not a waste.
Without any thoughtful apology
He espoused his bizarre epistemology.
But he was a quack,
And he lacked the knack
To conceal it was based on astrology.
I’m sending this lim’rick post-haste,
Before my idea gets misplaced.
A thought’s been coerced —
Today it’s my first —
And I haven’t a second to waste.
My communication:
I really don’t have much to say.
No opinion that I want to sway.
But here is the key.
I just want to be.
The reason someone smiles today.
I’ve been told by one very wise.
“Lifes full of lows and some highs.
It’s far better to be kicked,
By the truth I predict,
Then it is to be kissed with some lies”.
Here is a limerick about nonverbal communication using a splendid oxymoron borrowed from Samuel Beckett:
Hedy’s lecherous staring divulged
Her strong weakness for crotches that bulged.
If the well-endowed guy
Wasn’t prudish or shy,
She got down on her knees and indulged.
Ah, Randy
“Nonverbal communication” with an oral tradition?
Rudy
She’d lost count of the judges she’d faced
In those beauty comps rating her waist.
Always happy to be
Ranked among the top three,
And ironic’ly known as Miss Placed.
Deceptive Communication
In truth, I don’t listen to Bea.
Bea never stops talking to me.
Like “terms and conditions”
And all impositions
I merely respond, “I agree.”
I tried, yet I never partook.
And there in the lobby I shook.
Ev’ry soul with a phone.
I felt so alone:
The only one reading a book.
Some robots (designed with good taste)
Are slim-bodied and humanly faced.
But the ones that work hard
Clearing trash at the yard,
Prefer their industrial waist.
At the swingers convention their ruse
Was to pool all their phones while they’d schmooze.
Then each grab a phone;
Make a call to their own,
Then to bed with whichever was whose.
Donald Trump is so clearly deplorable.
His depravity’s hardly ignorable.
He’s naught but a waste
Who ought be disgraced—
That sick schmuck thinks all women are whorable!
(In the interest of fair play, this example barely scratches the surface.)
When I saw him he stared poker-faced
Putting trash in the recycle waste
I told him it’s wrong
That doesn’t belong
But he just scurried past me post-haste
Some lim’ricks are not to my taste.
To read them is simply a waste;
And when I see a pun,
I just want to run.
I groan and delete it posthaste.
(Of course, not all puns are created equal. Some are created more equal than others.)
No doubt you have heard the last word.
Immunity’s here for the herd.
All that you have to do —
Get a virus or two
And defer being thereby interred.
A French engineer (name of Claude)
waved flags at his fam’ly when bored.
His brother said: Hey!
We’ve a system in play, –
And I’m first to have been Semaphored.
On March 2, 1791 inventor Claude Chappe sent his brother the first transmission over their optical telegraph (which he later named Semaphore).
But Rudy….
Since a double entendre may blossom,
From the germ of a pun, and be awesome,
No pun is a waste
(unless it’s erased).
Please send yours to me ‘fore you toss ’em.
Plot Of “Invasion Of The Body Snatchers”
This movie is very well-paced
You must see it, it isn’t a waste:
It’s you, but it’s not.
In time you’ll be caught.
Due to aliens, you’ve been replaced.
A major revision of posting of 4/26 11:07 am
With aplomb and without an apology
He espoused his post-Freudian psychology.
But he was a quack,
And he lacked the knack
To conceal it was based on phrenology.
That man with the tight fitting slacks
Should purchase his clothes off the racks
It’s a terrible waste
When you’ve ordered in haste
And rolls of fat poke out the cracks😅
Ah Sjaan, puns are not my only problem…
Last night I was told on the telly
Not to be a naive nervous nelly.
They said “sampling” is “in”
And to put on a grin
And posthaste go rhyme jelly and belly.
Losing weight:
She asked for a pic of my waist.
In her haste though, she wrote it as waste.
Posted several pieces,
Of my morning feces…
She said that it was in bad taste!
….and while I’m in the kvetching vein…
To deal with an issue like covid
It would take a poet like Ovid.
But our writers today,
In their own bovine way,
Just ruminate words like a bovid.
…and once more unto the breach.
Those initials that we must discuss
Are “L-G-B-Q-I-A Plus”.
57 Varieties
That cause such anxieties
For anyone straight or a wuss.
If I chat with my stove willy-nilly,
Or talk to the fridge, I feel silly.
But I feel slight remorse
(Though there’s no need of course),
When I do not say Thank you to Siri.
Limerick writing humour. Lesson 1.
Example: I write the first half
‘bout a guy needing somewhere to Barf.
Then I write him a door,
Which I lock, (in line four)
He throws up on the floor, then You Larf.
If you’re writing a letter to scold
Use a font that is both hard and cold.
For your message to “shout”
And Mean it, – with clout,
Use all-cap’s Helvetica Bold.
She loved chat, with a Cake and a Frappe.
It became quite a regular trappe.
She caught Covid; felt offy,
Ate cake with a coughee
And-Eclaired that the Latte was Crappe.
I keep wondering why my pet gerbil
Never utters so much as burble.
Once, I urged hin to speak,
But he used the word “squeak'”
As a noun, so perhaps he’s nonverbal.
OOPS! Correction for inadvertently creating a new pronoun — “hin” — in line 3 –(contraction for “his’n”?) Sorry for repetition.
I keep wondering why my pet gerbil
Never utters so much as a burble.
Once, I urged him to speak,
But he used the word “squeak,”
As a noun, so perhaps he’s nonverbal.
Attention all Limerick-Off Stragglers: The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
My brownies with anchovy paste
Had such an unspeakable taste
That the special big bin
That they ended up in
Had a sign saying ‘hazardous waste’.
After birthing her young, my friend, Kate,
Soon complained she had gained “baby weight.”
So I sized up her waist,
Then ignoring good taste,
I asked how many babies she ate.
‘You’ve been chosen!’ the letter assured,
‘One of only a few.’ Was I lured?
I’d been chosen before,
Many times, and I swore,
“You’re not getting me this time, I’m cured.”
“Politicians are glib and two-faced.
They kiss babies with lips that aren’t chaste,
And we, suckers and fools,
Watch them breaking all rules,
And keep voting them in. Is that waste?”
Our 3rd teacher (Dick) is no gent,
Cuz on Shakespeare he’ll bullshit and vent.
An imposter; a farce,
He just talks out’ his arse:
Now the sphincter of our discontent.
The brain surgeon said, in poor taste,
“I never let minds go to waste,”
Promoting some rumors
That he dined on tumors.
And that is why he died disgraced.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 494. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Deeds.