"I'll screw any girl that I like",Said an amorous Dutchman named Mike
But sad though it seems
The girl of his dreams
Had her finger stuck in a dyke!
There's an Arkansas airport called Mena
Which is in Mr. Clinton's arena.
Passing this domain
There was lots of cocaine
For which he should be served a subpoena.
She said she would like to be weighed.
She withheld her affairs with fullbacks.
She withheld how she felt about climax.
She withheld from her mate
Every secret bedmate,
But she pays a huge withholding tax.
The poet comments, "Fullbacks? What are they?"
There once was a man of Belfast
Whose balls out of iron were Cast
He'd managed somehow
To bugger a sow
Thus you get pig iron at last.
The poet comments, "I am glad i found this place".
Slick's China jaunt cost a gazillionThe poet comments, "Could not BELIEVE our giverment spent 45 mil to send one stone wall to visit another."
The Chinese built Hillary a potty
For 26 thou it ain't shoddy
It's a golden ditch
For the 1st Bitch
Chinese no lose face- see 1st twattie!
The poet comments, "Newt's mom said it first."
When people engage in acts amorous
Hollywood thinks that it's glamorous
When couples get nude
And start to act lewd
They get out their video cameras.
There was a young fellow named Walter
Who his sex he wanted to alter
Upon the completion
Of the penile deletion
He could feel his manliness falter.
A nearsighted cleric from Queens
Conducted a mass in his jeans
When the bishop found out
He was soon heard to shout
"This priest must have defective Genes."
There was an ex-submariner named Guido
Who had a tremendous libido
When he got around women
He couldn't go swimmin'
Because of his magnificent torpedo.
Oh, father! I have a confession!
I admit that I have this obsession
I heard the men of the cloth'll
Very soon open a brothel
And I'd just love to have the concession!
The poet comments, "Sorry, it dosn't meter very well, but then what the hell."
Bill Clinton sits there on his throne
While poor Hillary sleeps all alone
His name ain't Horatio
But he just loves Fellatio
He loves to hear young interns moan.
We watch Bill with utmost suspicion
Because of his peculiar condition
All you ladies watch out
For this lecherous lout
Who has no nocturnal emission.
A bearded old biker named Charlie
Took a very long ride on his Harley.
He knew that his hog,
Created no smog
'Cause he ran it on hops and malt barley.
He rode the state of Virginia,
Which is very far from Gdinya.
He picked up a girl
Who he took for a whirl
And when done, said,"I'd like to get in ya."
Though a Roosevelt fan I was not
I never really liked him a lot
But old Franklin R.
Was better by far
Than this miserable bastard we;ve got.
The Mool came to Earth in Tangiers
Moroccan brew? - thought it quite stank.
Afro Pop? - sounded quite rank.
They met a black whore
And asked “Is there more?”
She: “Put on this Walkman and crank.”
Amused with the Mool (who were drunk),
She played ‘em some Hendrix and Monk.
Warm Guinness she poured.
T. Monk they adored,
And raved over Jimi’s sweet funk.
She let a Mool climb in her ‘bin’
And crank up his Walkman to ten.
‘Twas quite a snug fit -
She cared not a bit
As “Voodoo Chile” throbbed from within.
Now, deep inside her crevasse,
(Thank God Mool have gills like a bass!)
The stout made him belch,
Which tightened the felch,
And built up a nice head of gas.
She came with a blast and they parted.
Flying through space the Mool darted.
She charged ‘em no fee,
Exclaiming with glee,
“A Mool and his Sony - poon-farted!”
In response to the poet's question, that's not how Toast Point would have used the word felch. Toast Point informs his readers that when he and the Wumpus were dating, he made the Wumpus gape in shock simply by using the f-lch word casually. It was quite amusing.
Well, now, obviously. Toast Point reminds all his readers that as much as he loves running this contest, he is a very busy boy and can't always update it every day.
The poet comments, "If you know about voodoo, you will know about gris gris."
Does Ken think that he's Elliot Ness,
With the authority that he could express?
Do you think when Starr vents,
He can scare the defense?
Hell, at times he acts like he's wearing a dress.
His performance does hardly impress,
Those who think that the girl did undress.
Did Bill try to deceive her?
Few seem to believe her.
But why would she say it? No less.
This whole effort could use some largess,
Any info would help him, I guess.
From Bill's likeness of girls,
To the lives he unfurls,
But, I doubt Starr does this much possess.
For the investigation to really progress,
He should show some unselfishness.
Stop his verbal attacks,
And the leaking of facts,
'Cause he'll lose if the defense smells duress.
So it's onward the prosecutors will press,
These guys won't be happy with less.
Than to please the Grand Jury,
With their side of the story.
Any win for new careers to caress.
But the whole thing has begun to regress,
Starr should admit that he's lost it, unless,
The evidentiary phase,
Starts to garner him praise,
And he overrules Clinton'e move to suppress.
It's reminiscent of an old game of chess,
Pretty much, but it causes more stress.
How long can we bear?
To continue's not fair.
Calling off all the dogs we would bless.
But, alas, even Starr must confess,
Sooner or later, he's got to address.
That his image ain't funny,
Wasting taxpayers money.
My vote whether to end it is......Yes!
The poet comments, "This is not nearly as long, original or entertaining as the Hiftlorss Saga. Some of the creativity is unbelievable. At site I will visit again and again. Will contribute more."
Toast Point wonders if Squeaky drinks a lot of coffee...
She seemed different some how as he kissed her,
Bill Clinton's no man of conviction
Avoiding truth is a lifelong affliction.
Mixes lies with the facts,
We can never relax.
To him, truth is stranger than fiction.
The poet comments, "This Limerick business resulted from a family get-together as we were trying to remmember all those "good ones" we rememberd camping and such. As they say on Seinfeld, "Yadda, yadda, yadda" and we have composed over a hundred of these rascals since May of 1998.
Enjoy"
An Alien just in from VenusThe poet comments, "You can watch Pat almost every day on his own infomercial."
The poet comments, "Dear Candidates for Re-election. Do you think we are brain dead?. Scrap the tax code in 2002? That's 2 years after Cybergeddon! "
The poet comments, "This one's by Isaac Asimov."
"Remember that lady from Venus,The poet comments, "Alien anatomy could be a real pain."
The poet comments, "My brother taught me this one, I just polished it a bit for the occasion."
My wife's lost her sex drive and stamina
Said a geezer of seventy-four,
Then a third codger added, "I'm great;
No trouble when I urinate
Every morning at seven
With a shit straight from heaven,
But I don't seem to wake until eight!"
The poet comments, "Will join you soon for more give-and-take"
The poet comments, "The toughest first line this year!"
"Viagra's the problem", says Brown, The poet comments, "eye-lids or coffin lids ? - take your pick !"
A maiden who'd grown fairly buxom
His folks wired back: "Dearest Daughter,
We're shocked to be told of that slaughter.
You've cut off your pole
In exchange for a hole?
Now you'll have to sit down to pass water!"
You may pluck me (as in pizzicato)The poet comments, "Not on toast. On thousand dollar bills."
Took my Lab to the vet, Dr Reeve.The poet comments, "It's a full moon."
Soon the whole crew had stiff poles,
Her twats started smoking like coals,
When each little sac room
Went slam on full vacuum,
And sucked all their balls through their holes!
And the moral of the story:
(drought is the ‘-outh’ pronunciation)
At light speed when nookie’s a-drought,
Just let all old adage go south.
If you may choose,
Don’t cunt-shoot your ooze:
Best gook a Hiftlorss in the mouth.
An alien Hiftlorss named Ned
Took twenty-five space-girls to bed.
He had fifty pricks -
They stuck out like sticks -
Around his whole torso they spread.
Each wang was a foot long and thin -
The tips like the head of a pin.
The girls smiled in shock,
For each skinny cock
Could vibrate and pulsate and spin.
The flat little glanses, mere dots,
Did tickle the depths of their pots.
Occasionally one tip
Would get a good grip -
They’d puff up like doggy-dick knots.
Each mounted a wand from the front,
Then pulled of a wonderful stunt:
Ned’s extra score-five
Each got a face dive -
They had one for mouth, one for cunt.
Soon each choad entered full bloom,
Displacing both glottis and womb.
The girls were all stuck,
When tragedy struck:
Hiftlorsses must come in a vacuum.
Ned needed suction intense,
The better his spuz to dispense.
The girls got a shock:
Into the air lock
Ned drug them, all stuck to his splints.
Honking like horns make of brass,
The Hiftlorss let out all the gas.
Pussies a-schism,
The alien’s jism
Erupted and slew them in masse.
The moral, from adage is snatched.
Be sure that your species is matched.
A curious schtup
Could blow you right up.
Best count your dicks ‘fore they are latched.
After you've read this, dear crew,
You'll know that my mind has now blew.
I beg you not crack
Like I have. (alack!)
Just light off a flame when you're through...
You may know the story of Xirth
And space-balls, how now there’s a dearth.
And then there was Ned
Who seized quim and head,
And blew the space-girls beyond Earth.
Another old Hiftlorss named Xat
Was mongously purple and fat.
(Most Hiftlorss, my lads,
Have fifty gonads,
And dangerous gonads at that.)
Xat was fat, smelly, and coy -
By ‘lorss standards, quite the sex toy.
Unusually too,
Xat had fifty-two,
And wasn’t a girl nor a boy.
The “trogg” they have named this third sex
Whose sex pockets do a strange flex:
They turn half in-out.
Small glanses they sprout,
All mounted on pistil-like necks.
They don’t ‘xactly come in huge fits -
It’s like a great oozing of zits.
The dick-things just drool -
The cunt-holes stay cool
While pheromones fizz from their pits.
The troggies of Hiftlorss are spoiled -
Their delicate limbs never soiled.
They’re worshipped like queens
And fed on rare beans,
And sung to, and massaged, and oiled.
Their purpose is not to be had,
But only to fart just a tad,
And watch others feek,
And let off a reek
That drives ‘lorsses sexually mad.
(“Feek” is a Hiftlorss grand stunt
Where every hose bastes every bundt.
Two dance in a swirl,
And go “‘round the world”
-
That’s fifty squared ways to dip cunt!)
Xat lost two dingles last year -
A feeker crashed into its rear
And severed the stalks,
But surgeons, with caulks,
Stuck on a pair of new gear.
But if your good trogg is quite pleased
With you and your partner’s fine deeds,
It rolls on its rear,
And lets you draw near
And lick, but not suck, from its reeds.
The troggs are a mendicant caste
Who travel in ships vast and fast.
There’re only a few,
And couples must queue
To wait for their turn to get gassed.
Now Xat was to spend a full week
In Xirth’s county, augmenting feek.
It went to Xirth’s home
And sat on the throne
Reserved for a trogg just to peek.
Now Xirth was a jaded old whore -
E’en feek was becoming a bore.
She massaged old Xat
And took notice that
It had fifty ‘nads plus two more.
A freak clearly was just the thing
To give Xirth’s old coot-holes a zing.
She felt them grow warm,
And sooner than norm,
She summoned her partner to fling.
Their feek was quite splendid to heed -
A twenty-five hundred shot deed!
Xirth’s love-tubes were sore
Yet still she craved more -
Xat beckoned the lovers to feed!
Each fragrant drop of Xat’s dew
The lovers through trembling lips drew.
But on fifty one,
Xat’s tip-bud had none,
And likewise none on fifty two!
Xirth and her male forgot custom
And softly, but surely, then bussed ‘em.
Anathema that -
To suck a trogg’s bat.
Indeed, Xat then terribly cussed ‘em!
The townsfolk then broke out their sticks,
And struck them with brickbats and kicks
Until they were raw.
For this is the law:
You can’t leech an old trogg’s new dicks.
Toast Point comments, "Oh, my goodness..."
The poet comments, "A recent cartoon:
Q: Did you celebrate the last Seinfeld show?
A: No, I'm waiting to celebrate the last Viagra joke.
"Millard Filmore" United Features Syndicate"
The poet comments, "(c) 1998 Bob Moers"
The poet comments, "The original limerick had an Apache for a subject. A little research revealed that it was the Navaho who lived in hogans. So this is an edited version of the original..author unknown. (a brogan is a heavy shoe)"
An old geezer who turned ninety-three,
A Viagraphile named Lyle,
Called the seismology lab with a smile,
He said "Tell the staff
To watch the seismograph,
They're gonna' see a 10 in a while!
The poet comments, "This one is awkward: not really naughty enougn to be naughty, but a little naughty to be nice. lm"
"Oh, Teacher, I know that you're smart
In science and music and art.
But you dont have a clue
About bird-pee or poo;
But tell me, do birds ever fart?"
Asked a pupil I had in Grade Four,
So he married a 21 dealer,
Who was also a very fine peeler.
They moved to Niagra,
And peddled bogus Viagra
To Veterans and surviving New Dealers.
They found profitable professions,
Giving old farts penile erections.
And the company Pfizer,
Was never the wiser,
Despite all the phony prescriptions.
The poet comments, "(c) 1998 Bob Moers"
The poet comments, "FYI - Wheeling is a suburb of my home town...Chicago!"
The poet comments, "Suggested by a limerick from RuninOnMT. Here's a variation:
The poet comments, "I just surfed in via the haiku site. I will be submitting origionals regularly. I welcome any comments concerning the artform ."
She was built like the goddess called Venus.The poet comments, "So who needs grammar? (did you see my numberical pen name?)"
Yes, but TP was too dumb to get it. Thanks for your letter, too, Al - will reply soon.
A fresh picked a turd from your ass
Roll it up and drop in a glass
For pure refreshment bliss
Add 2 squirts of piss
I call it a Shit Sassafras.
The poet comments, "This took ten minutes."
You can bake a great cake of old scabs,
Used Band-Aids, dried boogers, and crabs
A dash of toe-grit
Then frost it with shit
Applied very gently in dabs.
The poet comments, "Another ten minutes"
Toast Point turns green and advises the poet to get help.
The poet comments, "Wow, the old Limerick writing, havn't done that for ages!:)"
Viagra, the little blue pill
"I'll screw any girl that I like",
Said an amorous Dutchman named Mike
But sad though it seems
The girl of his dreams
Had her finger stuck in a dyke!
The poet comments, "(c) 1998 Bob Moers"
The poet comments, "Another blue pill wasted."
The poet comments, "On 5/25/98 Toastpoint treated us to a classic in response to Dave the Knave's limerick. This is another version of the same classic published in Baring-Gould, W.S., The Lure of the Limerick. (Panther, London; 1970) pg. 172. Perhaps, the last three lines work better in this version -- which, I suspect, may be the original one. "
Toast Point thanks Chandan S., particularly since he had dredged up his version from faulty memory.
The poet comments, "Viagra patients wearing Blue Blockers in bed? Really!"
