Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: BREAD or BRED at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: October 16, 2021)
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 BREAD or BRED at the end of any one line. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
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 SELF-CONTROL, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best SELF-CONTROL-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 October 17, 2021, 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, October 16, 2021 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my BREAD or BRED-rhyme limerick:
A fellow with plenty of bread
Held a fete on his boat — a big spread.
Near the end of the bash
He dropped much of his cash
In the toilet. Wealth’s gone to his head.
And here’s my SELF-CONTROL-themed limerick:
I’m beginning to notice a lag in
Restraint from a pal who’s been braggin’
That he’s wholly off beer.
But I’m starting to fear
That my trucker friend fell off the wagon.
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: Alcohol Humor, Alcohol Limerick, Beer Humor, Beer Limerick, Competition Limerick, Drink Humor, Drink Limerick, Drinking Limerick, Idiom Humor, Idiom Limerick, Language Humor, Language Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Money & Finance Humor, Money Limerick, Party Humor, Party Limerick, Poetry & Prompts, Wealth Limerick, Writing Prompts
There was a young lady named Flo,
Whose boyfriend said, “Women can’t throw.”
So she threw at his head,
A loaf of stale bread;
But she missed and she fractured her toe.
Said a son of the famous MacGregors,
“I’m one of those quite lucky beggars.
With my good lady friend
My self-control cannot end.”
But it did – and now she is preggers.
Self Control
Those cookies just wait in their niches.
To grab you, (they’ve purposeful glitches).
They make you untame.
I’m changing their name
To “Choc-a-late Son Of A Bitches”.
OR
Those cookies just wait in their niches.
To grab you, like villainous witches.
They make you untame.
I’m changing their name
To “Choc-a-late Son Of A Bitches”.
I’m helpless when faced with desserts
I’ll eat ’til my stomach, it hurts!
I eat every last bite;
Now my pants are too tight
And I can’t button most of my shirts.
He’s a terrible baker, that Ted.
He burns every last loaf of bread.
His blueberry scones
are closer to stones,
and his biscuits are heavy as lead!
No Self-Control Solution
I was caught in an uncontrolled trap.
Then I thought of a fix in a snap:
Called, “Shed Pounds In Style”
But after a while,
I lied on my own weight loss app.
Daily Bread
They say that a girl who’s well-bred
Won’t let vanity go to her head
But how can she save face
When wealth beauty and grace
Is the diet on which she is fed
Our bakery was run from a shed
Where those wonderful smells filled my head
We made cakes and bread both,
There was no time to loaf
It’s where I was Raised, – Born and bred.
Our Former President Comes Clean
“I lied to the whole population,
Dishonored this glorious nation.
But since I’m well-bred
I must say instead:
I handed you disinformation”.
The sensation is driving me mad
What a feeling, – so good yet so bad.
It’s coming on strong
Can’t hold it for long
Oh Yes – YES! It’s the best sneeze I’ve had.
We’re hungry and need to be fed.
For forty long years we’re misled.
We’re not asking for much,
Like manna or such.
Just give us our damn daily bread!
Siblinghood ~
My parents both look like each other.
Their parents were sister and brother.
My kids were inbred
in my own sibling’s bed,
like we learned from our father and mother.
Child Psychology book by my bed
is too heavy, – I’ll take it as read.
If they’re naughty at home
I’ll just pick up that tome
and give them a smack in the head!
I’m beginning to feel this restraint
With my eating can make me feel faint
But if breakfast’s by nine
And my dinner’s on time
I seldom have a complaint
Taking Aggressive Action
Here’s my method, (you might be afraid).
Just relax, it’s a sure-fire aid.
Get the cake you have hidden,
(Which your wife tagged, “forbidden” )
And frost with a hand-thrown grenade.
To forget that I one day shall pass,
And tonight shall fall drunk on my ass:
To the pious, the dead,
To the poor but well-bred,
With the libertines raise I my glass!
“There are people with no self-control
Like that ex-presidential a-hole”,
Said Bill Gates. “Can’t ignore them,
So we’ll do it for them –
A chip in each brain is our goal.”
(Double)
“Since they tell me I’m quite overfed,
I’m determined to diet”, he said.
“Though I’ll still eat by tons
Greasy burgers and buns,
I shall make myself give up stale bread.”
“Beware of that woman!” they said
To the baker who hoped to be wed.
“She just happens to know
That you’re rolling in dough –
She’s a gold-digger, after your bread.”
The Sanctimony Of Preservatives
Or – .Gov considerations
When sawdust was banned from all bread
F.D.A. said:”Don’t put instead Lead
Cause a loaf In the head
Without mayo spread
Is a sign you went wrong when you wed”.
(In USA they had sawdust in bread)
(US.Gov never does silly stuff)
Local baker’s a man of renown
Who’s awarded the bread making crown.
All the judges have said
That his prize-winning bread
Is superb. It’s the toast of the town.
I ate at “Baguette” and you must
Come join me next time, cause they just
Serve the well-bred,
But you might feel unfed,
All they offer is dry upper crust.
Every baker is nursing a dread,
That of shedding while kneading his bread.
Should a stray strand be found
Once the loaves have been browned,
He just prays it’s a hair from his head.
“Victorian Pokey” January 1, 1801: Fine Dining
“Today Sir, we have a nice spread.
You’ll be stuffed, and extremely well-fed.
Thus, Lordship Slaughter,
Here’s your yummy spring water.
Such a pity, we’re all out of bread”
Those who advocate strict self-control
Are a miserable lot, on the whole.
Not for them the delights
Of those drink sodden nights,
Or the head hanging over the bowl.
I really can’t stop my loud crying
Because of my profligate buying
It sure isn’t funny
‘Cause I’m out of money
But at least I own all I’ve been eyeing
Mr. and Mrs. Lardow
My wife said, “We must go on Keto”.
Oh yuk, I did not feel completow.
So I’d sneak out at night.
And what a delight:
To run out for pizza to eatow.
I used to call Johnny a “sleaze”
Cuz he constantly begged for “Trapeze”.
Since I’m very well-bred,
One night in our bed,
I agreed cuz he fine’ly said, “please”.
He said, “Now get down on your knees”.
I heard you’re a real expertise”.
But since I’m well-bred,
I instantly said,
“Okay, but you ‘gotta say, “please”.
Correction From 10:32 AM today
I ate at “Baguette” and you must
Come join me next time, cause they just
Will serve the well-bred.
But you might feel unfed.
All they offer is dry upper crust.
Another Procedure For Self-Control: “The Roaches Brigade”
Here’s my method, it’s quite a good aid.
I call it “The Roaches Brigade”
Get the cake that you’ve hidden,
(Which your wife tagged, “Forbidden”)
And spray it with 2 cans of Raid.
(It works)
That gal is well read and well bred.
She’d never (she said) be caught dead
With a book that was porn.
She dismissed those with scorn.
She’d watch X-rated movies instead.
I cried real big tears in my bed.
My eyes and my face got so red.
I forgot to walk Rover
Cuz that day was passed over.
Now me and my dog can’t have bread.
My control over air, land and sea
Was a foregone conclusion to me.
But to Be voted out
(It was rigged, – There’s no doubt)
Is a detail I didn’t foresee.
My attempt to rule land, sea and air
Was stolen from me, – so unfair.
If they’d all just agree
That you voted for Me
I’d control the whole world from my chair.
My quest to rule air, sea and land
Was derailed, they were So underhand.
My catchy new cry:
‘Vote for me or you’ll die.’
I’ve got my revenge war all planned.
This appeal from my doctor sufficed
To reveal his advice over-priced:
“Cut down on your bread.”
That’s all that he said.
And I had to explain, “It comes sliced.”
Weight Loss Strategy: 1999
Small portions, I couldn’t maintain.
No will power, so I would gain
Lots of weight, (such distress).
So my plan to munch less
Was to eat ev’ry day on a plane.
Being catered to eats at my head.
That’s why waitstaff at restaurants I dread.
But I try to act hip,
As I leave a big tip,
And I ask, “Would you care for more bread?”
Millennials Vs. Baby Boomers
“A sandwich? No way”! Ashley said.
“I won’t eat one, I’d rather be dead!”
The truth must be told.
If, (like me) you are old,
You remember when people ate bread.
“A True Gentleman”
When I see a real sexy behind,
I always act very refined.
Since I’m very well-bred,
I MUST think ahead.
So, at first I just fondle her mind.
Said the scion, so suave and well-bred,
To his lady: “It’s time that we wed.
I’ll be needing a mare
To provide me an heir.”
So she did what she had to. She fled.
Bread/Self control
On Passover you can’t have bread.
You have to eat matzohs instead.
Your complaints, please restrain.
Or must I explain?
You’re Jewish. Get that through your head!
A beer, I assume, is just fine.
Yet it’s something I always decline.
Cuz we the well-bred
Are “one step ahead”
And would rather get schnockered on wine.
I wanted to be so much thinner,
My plan? It sure wasn’t a winner:
For breakfast and lunch,
A salad to munch.
Then loss of control for my dinner.
a minor change: L5
A beer, I assume, is just fine.
Yet it’s something I always decline.
Cuz we the well-bred
Are one step ahead.
And prefer to get schnockered on wine.
Some tell you that organic bread
Is good for your body and head;
The problem is, though,
I don’t have the dough,
So I eat at McDonald’s instead.
“My family’s extremely well-bred,”
He smirked with a toss of his head;
When a DNA test
Put that fiction to rest,
He keeled over in shock and fell dead.
If shooting yourself is your goal,
Then before you get ready to roll,
As you suck your cheeks in,
Also cover your chin.
It’s called practicing selfie control.
Showing off my hot car at a rally
Met some rev-heads, – we got kinda pally
The old-timer said
“Tell me son, where you bred”
I said “I’m from Gasoline Alley“
There’s a rumour about. It’s been said
That the family is slightly in-bred
The siblings are close
So much so that it’s gross
And the baby has one extra head.
So the guy at the bakery said
“I’m so sorry, the yeast hasn’t bred.
The temp was too low
And I’ve run out of dough
Without which I’ll soon be in the red”
To write of control of oneself
Is an insight to one’s mental health.
But I’ve no self control
To write of (on the whole), –
Information of which I’ve no wealth.
The kids said “we’re gonna drop dead.
Get up Mum, – cos we need to be fed.”
“Stop licking your chops, –
Didn’t get to the shops.
All I’ve got is a loaf of stale bread.”
You would Never quiz me ‘bout my wealth
You’d approach pers’nal matters with stealth
You Would, on the whole
Exercise self control
SO QUIT ASKING ME ’BOUT MY DAMN HEALTH!
1950: The Well-Bred Neighbors: Mr. and Mrs. Highfalutin’
Our neighbors, so braggingly said,
“We both are extremely well-bred”
The iPhone was unknown,
So to stay in their “zone”
They ignored ev’rybody instead.
OR
Our neighbors so braggingly said,
“We both are extremely well-bred”.
To prevail in the “zone”
Without an iPhone,
They ignored ev’rybody instead.
The Number One Ridiculous Excuse For No Self-Control
My Mama would constantly shout,
“Lose weight! Your are just too damn stout!”
I’d say, “Mom, in my bod,
Though this may sound quite odd,
Is a thin one that just can’t get out”.
Do I have self control? Not a lot!
Not sure if I’m paranoid or what.
If you wish me “good day”
In a slightly off way
I’ll go ape-shit and just lose the plot.
Mrs. Blubber’s Invention For Sure-Fire Self Control
“I’ve invented a super technique
For weight loss, oh my! it’s unique!
I’ve a note by the cake,
(This rule I won’t break)
Which says, “Diet will start in one week”.
You Can Do It! Use Self Control And Eat Lots Of Veggies!
For good diet foods, I went shopping.
Came home, and I then started chopping.
An assortment of greens,
Threw in low-cal black beans.
And a real tasty Hagen Dazs topping.
minor change, Self Control
My Mama would constantly shout,
“Lose weight! you are just too damn stout”
“Mom, in my fat bod,
Though this may sound quite odd:
There’s a thin one which just can’t get out”.
I’ve an urge to my dear wife’s dismay
When I sing the same song every day.
I’m singing day and night
The Lion Sleeps Tonight.
My compulsion’s just a whim away.
(a wimoweh, a wimoweh, a wimoweh, a wimoweh . . . )
She was sexy but Deaf (it is said)
And went into town to give Head
to those guys who are poor,
Sleeping rough on the floor.
But what she’d been told was “…give Bread”
It wasn’t that she was a slut,
Though she loved a display of good smut.
She believed heart and soul
That beyond her control,
This feeling came straight from the gut.
(Get a mental picture of the former Governor of New Jersey)
“My name is Chris Christie, my goal
Is to keep all the cops on patrol.
Kill Those Druggies! They tick
Me off, me off and I’m sick
Of those lib’rals with no self control”.
How lovely, the night they were wed.
She liked blue, but the groom preferred red.
They had a cute boy.
And they sure did enjoy
Their lovable baby, “Crossbred”.
Just arrived in the vaunted hereafter,
I was greeted with songs and with laughter.
It’s a real rabbit hole.
They have no self control.
Nothing ever I’ve seen could be dafter.
A Gift From Aunt La di da
“To my favorite nephew dear Keith,
I hereby do fondly bequeath:
A piece called “Well-Bred”
Which forthwith must be read,
Called “Plucking The Spinach From Teeth”.
Seeing vultures soar over his shed,
The old Colonel stood scratching his head.
“I ordered these flyers?
I meant to say FRYERS.
Well, this could be a good breed to bread.”
It’s the Mexican Day of the Dead,
All the cookies, tamales and bread.
There’s the skulls they will paint,
And the yearly complaint.
The copious carbs to be shed.
Now I Do tend to over-indulge
But here’s a safe place to divulge:
When I go for a pee
(Just between you and me)
I can’t see my dick past the bulge.
I’ve bought a new book appertaining
To exercise, eating and Training.
And teaching oneself
To pursue better health
But my appetite for it is Waning.
We know the truth!
All the “delies” have such a lush spread.
When you leave, you are truly well-fed.
Be it nice lean pastrami,
Real spicy salami,
Or that basket of last Tuesday’s bread.
The lawyer thought things could go south.
And client solution caused drought.
Self-control of defendant,
was completely dependent.
On keeping the gag in his mouth.
The student a fan of small space,
And tortuous body displace.
She’s contortionist bred,
From her toes to her head.
Left the circus, no longer encase.
I’m quickly losing my self control
Fake food is sure something I dread.
It’s not butter! It’s some yukky spread.
Phony sugar, mock cream,
Fake cheese, I could scream.
And “I Can’t Believe It’s Not White Bread”
OR: I’m Losing My Self Control:
Fake food is sure something I dread.
“It’s Not Butter” It’s some yukky spread.
Phony sugar, mock cream,
Fake cheese, I could scream!
And “I Can’t Believe That It’s Not Bread”.
Weight Watchers
My sister is coming real soon.
The time was not real opportune.
I said “fine” cuz she cried,
“I couldn’t, but tried,
I’ve used up my points, and it’s noon”
Congested with headache, in pain.
Lifting a Kleenex, a strain.
My husband’s loud snoring,
That’s shaking the flooring.
Is driving me quickly insane.
Kleenex like scrunched up white bread.
Are scattered however we tread.
There’s a cough and a sneeze.
Decongestant, yes please.
Sickness invades, want my bed.
Some guy I once met on the street,
Told me, “I have had nothing to eat
In over three days.”
It may be a phase,
But his willpower sure can’t be beat.
As a child I grew up eating Wonder Bread
and now that I’m old I live under dread
of whole wheat or rye.
Oh, don’t ask me why;
I guess I’m an old, doughy dunderhead!
No clue had the rising bread.
He asked if the dough new instead.
The dough thought and sighed
And then he replied.
T’was the yeast I could do he then said.
The son told his dad with a zing.
For ten bucks I’ll be good as a king.
Said dad like a sage
When I was your age.
I was very good for nothing.
I’m losing all sense of my taste.
Can’t smell anymore, not a trace.
How impactful the bread,
And toppings I dread.
The pizza completely a waste.
If you face the tough choice with a groan.
Ice cream cup or cone you do moan.
I pick cone, maybe cup
No cone so shut up.
Then it truly is a waffle cone
A bad act that should be deleted.
The midnight snack is soon repeated.
Between should I want
and should i want not.
I should want remains undefeated.
Mummies like the same old grind.
Vacations are not on their mind.
Why not have fun,
play in the sun?
They’re afraid to relax and unwind.
Does your closet cause lament?
Are your hangers tangled and bent?
You’ll save your soul
If you’ll just enroll
Yourself in hanger management.
The spring gardener took a stance.
He was so moved he did a dance.
In love was he
With spring you see.
So excited he wet his plants.
“I shall Win this” he said with a scoff
“It’s so easy, – this Limerick-off”.
His good English, Mad said,
Is refined and well-bred
But his metre is just a little bit off.
Familiarity breeds much contempt,
Like hair that’s unwashed and unkempt.
Even though I am bald
By my scorn I’m appalled.
No self-control keeps me exempt.
I’ve just made a doctor’s appointment
To see’f he has some kind of ointment
To improve my foul mood
Since I’ve given up food
to lose weight, but I’ve gained disappointment.
I’m addicted. It’s ghastly to see.
Of these urges I’ll never be free.
I’m all in a twist
As I try to resist
That last Snickers bar, calling to me.
**********
From Mad Kane:
I used to like Snickers bars. But then I made the mistake of tasting the version they sell of small ones in Halloween candy bags. They’re disgustingly sugary!
I used to like Snickers too! Now there is a new one, with pureed
black beans replacing the chocolate, and Elmer’s Glue replacing the caramel.
Those pureed black beans surely are
Real yukky, and thus on a par
With glue and with paste
And that’s what you taste
In the new Low-In Fat Snickers Bar!
I think diet food, as a whole
Has the smell of a new suckling foal.
The beans and the glue
Have the tang of a shoe.
And that’s why I’ve no self control.
This Is What You Call No Self-Control.
“Guinness Book Of World’s Records”
Those Guinness books always will show
Lots of crazies who reached some plateau.
The “four thousand pound guy”
Make me think, “Oh My My”
He certainly let himself go!”
A simple twofer:
To a gentleman, being well-bred,
“Is a matter of keeping one’s head.”
When the merde hits the fan,
“Stand your ground like a man.”
And good manners? “They’re taken as read.”
From day one, I was told, by my wife,
To provide – twice a day – staff of life.
Like fool, I said, ‘Bread?’
“Cast that thought from your head,
If you want wedded bliss and not strife.”
I’ve tried this with husband before,
To hide all the candy galore.
He found, did not work,
And now, they’re berserk.
The children costumed at my door.
Lord Cholmondeley’s so very well bred
That he doesn’t watch TV in bed.
He’s so upper-crust
That he has a large bust
Of every ancestor who’s dead.
Elves have morals and great self-control;
So they don’t need laws on elf-control.
But their shops are a mess!
You can’t find stuff – I guess
That they can’t understand shelf-control.
In a cabin, (first class), from Bombay,
The table showed signs of decay.
The cause, so ‘tis said,
Was the base of the bread
Was acidic and burnt it away.
He thought that they should but she wouldn’t;
She said that they could but they shouldn’t.
And that’s how it went;
When the daylight was spent,
She told him she would…then he couldn’t.
White priv’lege has gone to my head,
I eat mayo on white bread in bed.
I’m renowned for my wealth
And enjoy vibrant health;
What’s my secret, you ask? I’m white-bred.
Excuses Excuses
Tried a meeting called, “Weight Loss Support”.
Soon after, I chose to abort.
I my view, I’m not stout.
Cuz I fine’ly worked out
The conclusion: It’s just that I’m short.
More Excuses
Her outfits just no longer fit’er.
(Content, and she’s not even bitter.)
Still eating those sweets.
And real fattening treats.
Won’t stop cause she says “I’m no quitter”
A new sign on the highway: “Read If You Have Road Rage Disease”
“If road rage is causing you dread,
Calm down, or you may end up dead.
Try to practice control.
You must keep yourself whole.
There are much better drivers ahead”
(a revision of my post above)
He thought that they should, though she wouldn’t;
Her feeling was “could, but we shouldn’t.”
Their evening spent,
She began to relent;
And told him they would…then he couldn’t.
A visit to the oncologist: “Help! I Have No Self Control: What To Do?”
“I see, Mr. Jones, you are choking.
And soon Sir, you sure will be croaking.
You must quit, you’ll get cancer!
And that is my answer.
For more information, keep smoking”.
In restaurants I often dread
When they bring out homemade bread.
I finish each crumb,
The meal will then come.
I then stuff myself, enough said.
No Self Control
“Bad news, dear, you’ll be all alone.
Stay strong, do not whimper or moan.
I must leave you today.
You just get in the way.
And I must spend more time with my phone”
At a naked pool party in Fleet
Jock was keen and jumped in with both feet.
Then woke up to find
It was all in his mind, –
Except for his warm and wet sheet.
To Tim, Lisi and Mad:
I lay out some pieces of bread;
They fly in, right over my head.
Then squabble and fight;
If this keeps up I might
Subject them to Snickers instead.
*********
From Mad:
Sounds like just deserts to me.
On Monday beginning food log,
Until then be gorging like hog.
Or next month I could seek,
This road to look sleek.
Forget that, next year, I’ll just jog.
… or start the year after that or . . .
Let’s be Frank, – they love sex, – they’re not wed!
No control and no need for a bed.
Their best fun so far
Was the sex in the car
And the quick stand-up shag in the shed.
A psychiatrist (with sexy young moll)
Was struck-off after losing control.
He said “You’re so kind
To let Me probe your mind
With my dick, – it’s research, on the (w)hole.”
The seagulls all perched on the shed
Set for dive-bombing many a head.
Then Jonathan said
“See that woman in red?
Don’t crap on Her, – she’s got the Bread”
Revisionism
Marie Antoinette, when she fled,
Having omens of doom rightly read,
Was stopped on her way
By a plea: “S’il vous plaît.
Some cake! We won’t settle for bread.”
Love between slices of bread.
Becoming toast is what they most dread.
With nothing to lose,
I think they would choose,
To grow mold together instead.
Hospitality ranks with this guy.
Ascertaining that’s easy, here’s why.
The room that he spread,
With some serious bread.
Is bathroom with rolls of three ply.
Can you spare a square?
A neccesary revision.
From day one, I was told, by my wife,
To provide – twice a day – staff of life.
Like a fool, I said, “Bread?”
“Don’t be silly!” she said.
“I refer to avoidance of strife.”
That should have been necessary, of course.
She danced to stay out of the red.
Sold canapes, kept all fed.
A stay-at-home mom,
Lived life with aplomb.
Both sidelines, she hustled for bread.
In my dreams, I warn Mary and Fred
That they never, no never, must wed.
“Mr. Trump, please!” I beg,
“Keep your sperm from her egg!”
For just look at the spawn that they bred.
It’s supposedly very ill-bred
If you fondle your manhood in bed.
It’s far better, they say,
Even if you must pay,
To have someone else do it instead.
For Valentine’s day, I got candy.
That heart-shaped box really looks dandy.
Didn’t eat ev’ry piece.
I sure knew when to cease.
One left, cuz it might come in handy.
OOPS
For Valentine’s Day, I got candy.
That heart-shaped box really looked dandy.
Didn’t eat ev’ry piece.
I sure knew when to cease.
One left, cuz it might come in handy.
Come with Me to the bakery shed
We can get all our gear off (she said).
There’s a huge tub of dough
We’ll make love in, – I’ll show
You my love, that I’m So good in Bread.
Self Control
Dear Lim’riks, you make me perspire.
Don’t care, cuz it’s you I desire.
From now on, my technique
To prove I’m not weak:
I’ll stop when my house is on fire.
Said the priest, “You must use self-control;
In the Church, that’s how altar boys roll.
Keep a stiff upper lip
While my pants I unzip;
Three Hail Mary’s will then save your soul.”
To Tim, Lisi, Mad, and Dave
When I was a boy wearing nickers,
My favorite candy was “Snickers”.
I still get the jones
Right down to my bones.
I control them imbibing sweet liquors.
Crumbs with Self Control
What’s left of the loaf is obscured.
Bread crumbs tossed out for a bird.
The crumbs from this bread
Lay still, they play dead.
To move calls attention I’ve heard.
Was raised where the folks not well-bred.
And Wonder the bread we were fed.
Liked to roll and make small,
A miniscule ball.
Find more fiber, less air, you’re ahead.
Our first date, Oh! he just stole my heart!
He was handsome, and charming and smart.
I had such great control,
And achieved my main goal:
All evening, I held in a fart.
The Miracle of 1928
Poor Granny was bangin’ her head.
In the 20’s, her fingers just bled.
She screamed, “I can’t take it.
Or Lord, will you make it?”
Out of no where appeared sliced white bread.
OR
The Miracle of 1928
Poor Granny was bangin’ her head.
In the 20’s, her fingers just bled.
She cried, “I can’t take it
Or Lord will you make it?”
And “Wondrously” flew in sliced bread.
The boy loves peeing, he’s three.
Everyplace squirting so free.
There’s no longer control,
All the mess took a toll.
A litter box option? We’ll see.
There once was a man who broke bread
with enemies who wished him dead.
Though his family was pained,
diplomacy reigned
till they came to stab him in his bed.
Soon Texas will have the way led
protecting the lives of inbred,
crying pro-life
to a man’s sister and wife
so long as they’re white and they’re wed.
We’re sick, and my friend at front stoop,
Brought barley and vegetable soup.
Was delicious with bread,
And congestion from head,
Cleared, and then helped us to poop.
The boy loves shooting his pee.
Hits all but toilet with glee.
There’s no longer control,
All the mess took a toll.
A litter box option? Agree!
Poop, pee, bathrooms and toilet paper. A little worried Mad. I think I’m turning into an 8 year old boy.
The greatest invention, it’s said
Was creating already sliced bread
But I would submit
It won’t matter one bit
If there’s no PB&J to be spread.
My “bakery” jokes never fail
To cause chuckles; herein they entail:
Lots of puns about bread,
Which always have led
To laughter; they never get stale.
To eat and live well is my goal,
and not Flip when I need self control.
But pancake sweet batter?
– A whole other matter:
A Toss-up to lick-out that bowl.
I regret that this has to be said,
But I think you’re a tad over-fed.
Though I hate to be blunt,
I’m compelled to confront
You. It’s high time you laid off the bread!
Alas, I’m afraid I am lacking
Control, ‘cause when I hear ducks quacking,
My first thought’s “Confit!
Save the best slice for me!”
With lips smacking, I then commence whacking.
Will we survive some would mutter.
No worries the upper crust utter.
So said the bread
With the most bread,
For tomorrow it will be much butter.
My friend, a control freak is he,
Who always corrects me with glee.
He simply won’t quit.
Self control? Not a bit.
Whenever I see him I flee.
Let’s consider some uses of bread.
You can use it to poultice your head.
Croque monsieur’s finger-lickin’ –
If you fancy roast chicken;
Bread-crumb stuffing mops up juices shed.
At the bakery, Crumb Bros & Sons,
Female bakers were treated like nuns.
“All the brothers,” gals said,
“When they’re testing our bread,
Make a habit of squeezing our buns.”
Looks like Captain T. Kirk has a place,
Well William, the actor, in this case.
Some sizable bread,
That Shatner has spread.
He’s prospered now conquering space.
William Shatner really has ” lived long (90) and prospered.” Safe travels.
Whoops L2
Looks like Captain T. Kirk has a place,
Well Shatner, the man, in this case.
Some serious bread,
That William has spread.
He’s prospered, now conquering space.
You know “Bean Me Up” popular phrase.
That Kirk would repeatedly raised.
Now his spending his bread,
And in spirit he’ll tread.
with Spock by his side on this phase.
whoops L3
You know “Beam Me Up” popular phrase.
That Kirk would repeatedly raise.
Now he’s spending his bread,
And in spirit, he’ll tread.
With Spock by his side on this phase.
“I’ve control, and I always assert
With poker, I’m highly alert.
It’s because of my vow,
Just look at me now:
I’m so proud that I still have my shirt”
Roulette: Self Control?
Wow! this time, I’m sure gonna win.
On my face, there’s a real joyful grin.
I’ve still got a nickel,
So I’m not in a pickle.
I’m back for that one lucky spin.
The masses were massed in the yards
And blocking the French boulevards.
Said Marie, “Give them bread
Or hotdogs instead,
But make sure that you’ve mustard the guards.”
A little yeast fungus named Jed,
Explaining his witlessness said,
“It seems that my mother
Made me with her brother,
And so, don’t you see, I’m in bread.”
Ain’t got no self control:
My uncle was not very clever.
He’d bet lots of money wherever
He went; lost his house.
Fine’ly asked his sweet spouse:
“Would you like to go camping forever?”
No Self Control: “The Mall”
I’m leaving to join all the “herds”.
Staying home, (well, it’s just for the birds)
I sure love to shop,
But I can’t seem to stop.
So, “Bye, sweetie, any last words?”
“Hubby” went on a trip; you’re alone.
The kitchen is now all your own.
You say “just one more”
Next morning the floor
Looks just like a goddam war zone.
My final word:
Now “Beam me up, Bezos” the phrase,
And Shatner’s entrusting this phase.
He spent all this bread,
To the heavens he’ll tread.
Says Spock, “It’s illogical craze.”
“Controlling yourself’s a big bore.”
Said my wife, and she said even more.
She may be my wife,
The love of my life,
Tis a pity that she is a whore.*
* Tis Pity She’s a Whore is a tragedy written by John Ford (1626), but you knew that.
Every morning I get out of bed
Feeling great, and when’s all done and said,
What’s my dear staff of life?
No, it isn’t my wife!
It’s a slice of some freshly baked bread.
She employed him to help her make bread,
But his nature she badly misread.
She found out that the oaf
Would consistently loaf.
“I’ve no knead for this goof-off,” she said.
Consumed by this terrible greed,
And compulsion to eat and to knead.
I combined, and made bread,
Then sold it, and spread.
Both body and profit, should heed.
(From the sports page)
Coach claims he was trying to vent
When all his bad emails were sent.
The N.F.L. said
“We don’t like what we’ve read;
Your cache won’t be paying the rent”.
Online Shopping: no self control
Said my sneaky, (yet lovable spouse)
“Couldn’t help it, I ordered one blouse”.
“Oh really?” said I
So tell me just why:
Ev’ry day there’s a box in the house?”
Hoarding: no self control “John Is Fed-Up”
“My sweet darling, there sure is a bunch
Of crap here, I’ve got a good hunch
That your hoarding’s severe.
And why’s that thing here?”
“That goat? Oh, he just wanted lunch”.
From the moment they met he just knew.
He had told her “There’s no one like You.”
She was “one of a kind”
But that soon slipped his mind
When her Twin came around for a Screw.
She Should have been making the bread
But was kneading her boss who dropped dead
So she used his erection
With utter perfection
To put Holes in the doughnuts instead.
Doc says, “You aren’t eating what’s right.
The weight has ballooned out of sight.”
“The solution,” I hissed,
As my eyes start to mist.
“I’ll work on increasing my height.”
My Sweetie Pie? I’ll never diss’em.
Why would I? I sure love to kiss’em.
But he said if I shop
To excess, he will drop
Me, that’s so sad, cuz I’ll miss’em.
Hey Mad,
This may not be a winner, but it will win a place in your heart.
Ms. Mad does approve the risqué,
And word play with puns make her gay.
She loves what is droll
And can even control
Her yawns, when the dull comes her way.
The carbs that are lurking in bread
admittedly fill me with dread.
I once tried to veto
the strictures of keto
but ended up breaking the bed.
If life is indeed like a box
full of chocolate, it ought to have locks
or I know what I’ll get-
upset stomach, regret,
chocolate stains and intestinal blocks.
L1
Doc says, “Not eating what’s right.
The weight has ballooned out of sight.”
“The solution,” I hissed,
As my eyes start to mist.
“I’ll work on increasing my height.”
Mom has lost control
Mom sold dresses and lovely hats too.
Her non-stop obsession just grew.
One night in her bed,
Was an ant, and she said,
“Perhaps he’d like something in blue”.
I’m Getting Worse
My OCD’s out of control.
And therefore, my primary goal
Is to end this behavior.
(I prayed to my savior).
Thus, I’m better now, hole hole hole hole.
minor change L4 from Oct. 13th 1:38 PM
“Hoarding, No Control” (John is fed-up)
“My sweet darling, there sure is a bunch
Of crap here, I’ve got a good hunch
That your hoarding’s severe.
And what have we here?”
“That goat? Oh, he just wanted lunch”.
I make a good chunk of the bread,
My cheeky tomato’s well-fed.
Lots of bacon was spent.
But “lettuce” not vent.
And fix us a sandwich instead.
Regarding the subject of bread,
There’s not that much more to be said.
Its makeup, the taste,
What it does to our waist;
Let’s fill in tortillas instead.
She says, ” Hon, need more packets if yeast.”
He says, “Stop you’re a beast, slow at least.
This baking of bread,
My health, look ahead”
Too late, his poor heart, it has ceased.
sequel
I am Blythe, was the wife, to dear Fred.
He’s gone from the baking of bread.
Will slim down my waist,
Don’t want to be placed.
Too quickly with Fred and be dead.
The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
Yes, there is a “Dance pop” (self control)
My husband came home and was wiggling.
And not only that, he was wriggling.
He heard some Dance pop.
So he popped, couldn’t stop.
But now I can’t sleep, due to jiggling.
Another Version (self control)
My husband came home and was wiggling.
Real quickly, I then started giggling.
Seems he heard some Dance-pop.
Then he popped, couldn’t stop.
My sleep’s now disturbed from his jiggling.
(I just came across some “pop dancing” on you tube, and couldn’t
resist writing a popping limerick) :)
He loves engineering exotic
and quirky new “friends”, – all robotic.
One just Made my mind boggle:
A large Self-controlled toggle
switch, Flipping from Flop to Erotic.
It’s progressively coming to light.
This marriage to Dwight is not right.
He’s extremely well-bred,
But as far as his head,
It hovers two feet passed my height.
grammar error L5
It’s progressively coming to light.
This marriage to Dwight is not right.
He’s extremely well-bred.
But as far as his head,
It hovers two feet past my height.
Replaces oct 15. 5.25pm (line 4)
He loves engineering exotic
and quirky new “friends”, – all robotic.
One just Made my mind boggle:
Its large Self-controlled toggle
switch, Flipping from Flop to Erotic.
Correction from 3:49 PM today “Self Control”
My husband came home and was wiggling.
Real quickly, I then started giggling.
He had popped to “Dance-pop”
But then couldn’t stop.
My sleep’s been disturbed from his jiggling.
*”Dance pop” is the music.
“Popping” is the dance.
Self-control is a terrible chore,
In addition to being a bore.
I’m devoted to vice
Which, I know, is not nice,
But bro’s saintly which evens the score.
Self-control sets a limit, I find,
Which demands I be temp’rate and kind.
Well, no more! I refuse
To ignore or excuse,
Or pretend that I really don’t mind.
Self-control sets a limit, I find,
Which demands I be temp’rate and kind.
Well, no more! I refuse
To ignore or excuse,
Or pretend that I really don’t mind.
From now on I shall scold and rebuke.
In some cases, I may even duke.
I am done with restraint,
So, withhold your complaint.
If you get on my tits, I may nuke.
Quoth Jesus, “When we are all dead,
A BOOK will record what I said.
And how thousands got food
When all of us chewed
On two fishes and five loaves of bread!”
The 4th Earl of Sandwich, it’s said,
Was the first to eat beef between bread.
Though it’s hard to see how,
He consumed a whole cow
In a loaf, and so now he is dead.
When I growled at a walrus nearby,
“Hey, those ice picks could put out an eye!”
The old sharp pinniped —
On the surface well-bred —
Used “tsk tsk” as his only reply.
I’m constrained by good manners to smile,
Even though I regard you as vile.
Only iron self-control
Prevents roasting you whole.
That may change once I’ve gone one more mile.
“It is only because I’m well-bred
That I don’t hit you over the head.
With your loathsome visage,
On which scorn is writ large,
You’re begriming my vision,” I said.
“Ooh! I bet he was livid.” “He was.
I could tell by his quivering schnozz.’
“Did he make a riposte?”
“Oh, he did – to his cost.
His tirade got him fired by the boss.”
I know ‘boss’ is pushing it, but there are hardly any rhymes for ‘was’. Schnozz was sheer luck.
Joan was raised to be pure, without taint,
And was praised for demure self-restraint.
So she took it quite hard
When she found out Bernard,
Their old dog, was the family Saint.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 480. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Dock.