Limericks and such composed on my daily dog walks: verses 651-700
Note: Some of these verses lean left. If you lean right (which is completely cool, of course), you may not be totally happy with this site.
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651. As she drove home from filming the scene
that mostly only by men would be seen,
she glanced at the amount on the check,
and thought to herself, "Oh, what the heck ─
it'll pay for a new dryer ─ and a new washing machine."
652. I said to my doggy, "Hey, you!Don't you be chewing my shoe.You're about as bad as the cat,who yesterday shat spatin the stew of Madame Magoo ─ ew!
653. If the big one were to hit today,every high-rise in Seattle would crumble away,and a giant-size tsunamiwould drown my daddy and my mommy ─and all of my friends with whom I always loved to play.
654. No matter how much data biblical scholars have collected,
the way heaven’s logic works still can't be fully detected.
On the list of things the Bible says “Don’t do,”
I’ve done ‘em all, except maybe one, or maybe two.
So how the hell did I end up on the list of heaven’s unconditional elected?
655. In the end, I can't think of anything worse,than to be carried to my final resting place in a shiny, black hearse.That's why I've always stated,that I want to be cremated,and continue making my rounds in repose of your purse.
656. Oh, what a handsomely gorgeous dayto be alive and so completely happy ─ and gay,and to wish everyone well ─even those who’d cast us into hell ─for insisting our pronoun is not “he” or “she” ─ but “they.”
657. When I sit down to write, I put my mind on a slow brew.I try not to think and just let vague ideas begin to seep through.And as my mind starts to percolate at a somewhat higher rate,I wait, I just wait till an okay idea drips through. And then I grab it to see what I can do.
658. He said he was pissed to have to pay 90% tax on earnings of a billion,because he'd be left with only a puny one-hundred million.And what's for sure,he'd again be listed among the poor,and not among those whose wealth was quickly adding up to a trillion.
659. I came, I saw, I fainted.*Have you ever been with anyone like me acquainted?You can know us by the way we disappearevery time the time for a battle draws near.To find us, don't look among the knighted or the sainted.* Play on Julius Ceasar’s “I came, I saw, I conquered.”
660. There's a pinhole in wavering mindswhere demons sneak in, fiends of all kindsto slowly work their insanityand destroy the Christianityof those with undoubtedly weak Christian spines.
661. This morning, my dog again caused an intense drama.He was inspired to bark at this big-ass llama.So, the beast decided to spit,and of course, I was the target of it,and got that slime all over a new shirt I just got from my momma.
662. I know this is not my best, it’s too blue.And I know I'm a great disappointment to you.I coulda tried to add a little bit more yellow,but then I only woulda been copying that other fellow.And then we woulda had an even bigger issue to work through.
663. As I was climbing the ladder to success,I was right behind this girl named Tess.And as you can guess,I could stare right up her dress ─which is what I did, of course ─ I readily confess.
664. Palestinian limericks / verses
a. As I'm sitting here, working on a long epic poem,people in Palestine are dying in and around their home.And the blood and the guts,that are being spilled overly much,are showing up as bits of awful offal ─ in my long epic tome.
b. Oh, this Western mindset is so bright!I condemn the slaughter of innocent Palestinians, and so I’m the antisemite!No, I harbor no ill will for the everyday Jew ─I solely despise the likes of Benjamin Netanyahu!And if that's the Western definition of "antisemite" ─ then calling me an antisemite ─ is just about right!
665. After I built her a stately, glass house,I said to my easy-to-anger, indelicate, new spouse,"Don't you be throwing no stonesat my erogenous zones,and don't you go walking around this new house ─ without a skirt or a blouse."
666. When I got to poem six six six,for fun, I thought I'd throw the devil into the mix.But he said he'd be busy with his end-of-year clearance,and so, he didn't have time to make a special appearance,but he'd send some helpers to hand out some delicious hot treats ─ and perform some hellacious new tricks.
667. Tell the truth, but tell it in a rant,*so that even stupid people will understand.And when talking to the wise,don't fall for their circuitous lies.Steele yourself against their verbal sleight of hand.* Play on Dickenson’s “Tell all the truth but tell it slant”
668. These days, she often forgetsher many sorrows and her many regretsin which I played an outsized partby more than once breaking her precious heart.As the band plays our song, as the sun sets,I ask, “Do you wanna dance?" She smiles and whispers ─ "Sure, let's."
669. In most of my poems, my simple aimis just kinda to enter tame ─then, once inside ─go hog wild ─showing no reserve, no shame.
670. I'm not a serious poet.I'm too much of a delirious poet.Most of the time,I can only do a lame, five-line rhyme,and that's never gonna cut it, I know it.
671. Here's another color I want you to hear.Can you sense the subtle difference there?The nuance of the one is where the second one's begunto change from a very sad melody into a very happy tear.
672. I wish I were back at the beginning,just before my head started spinning.I've lost controlof my mind and my soul,and feel the whole of my being thinning.
673. I answer my phonefor one caller alone,and you ─ dear caller ─ ain't she.At the beep, have your say,and if I like it, you mayget a timely call back from me.
674. Sometimes when I think backon the brainpower that I obviously did lack,I wonder how, in heaven's name,I managed to acquire all this fame,just by painting this pure white onto that pure black.
675. "This is art, for art's sake!Or are you gonna tell me that it's totally fake? And if yes, based on what?Tell me what it doesn't got.Or point out one mistake.""Piece of cake."
676. From across the vast expanse of time and space,the speed of light and I decided to have a little race ─from the earth to around the moon and back.And it's safe to say, he beat me by an eon, Jack!But I gave it a good go, so where's the disgrace?
677. She said, "That just can't be.It’s got no semblance to reality."I said, "How can you say that,when it's painfully clear thatit's the reality of me?”
678. On doomsday, as I was watching the end arrive,an angel walked up and said, "Hey, give me a high five."I said, "Wow, this isn't the way I had expected the world to end."The angel said, "That's pretty common with you Bible students, friend.You're expecting to get the boogie, when all you're gonna get's the jive."
679. I readily admit, I do like smut.In that regard, I'm a lot like my mut.The funkier the taste, the funkier the smell,the more we both tend to like it very well,though about that, we've agreed to keep our mouths shut.
680. I drove the meaning of the poem home,dropped her at the front door, then drove home alone.And I never heard much more about her after that,except a rumor that some scholarly types had made a sanctum of her flat,where they fill evening upon evening, chewing her fat.
681. A languid Lady Nature said to Industrial man“You've already done all that you possibly canto transform me into a dried-up, frowzy hag!So now ─ here! ─ hold on to the lip of this newfangled, Aeolian bag.And don't let go! ─ or you'll blow humanity away ─ from here to the Yucatan!
682. Nantucket limericks / verses
a. Hi, I am the man from Nantucket
of whom you all said his dick is so long, he can suck it.
Let me assure you, you’re totally wrong,
because my dick is not nearly that long.
Hell, from here, I can’t even piss in that bucket.
b. There once was a woman from Nantucket
who said to the guy, "Sure, I'll suck it."
But when the guy exploded,
her mouth got so overloaded,
she barfed full a five-gallon bucket.
683. When I'm shown an x-ray of your heart,it takes no art to spot the bits I tore apart.It’s easy to tell which ones are mine ─they’re the ones with a callously ripped edge line.Whenever I see this x-ray of your heart, I wish I could convince you of how much I smart.
684. From a distance, I saw someone wave at me.But who it was, I just couldn’t see.Was it the fat wife of the baker?Or the widow of the undertaker?Or that girl that ─ but no! That just couldn’t be.
685. If I had a soul, it's future would be pretty damn hot.When it comes to doing wrong, I done it quite a lot.Like, I had an affair with the wife of the fat baker,and a rendezvous with the widow of the undertaker.Hell, I’ve known so many women in town, it's a wonder I never got shot.
686. "I need to do a BM, W!Here's a gas station ─ can I trouble ya?I'll feel much better once I empty my gut.Can I bring you back a donut, or what?""Uh! I think ─ rather not."
687. My verse would never have existed without WordHippo or Rhyme Zone.I could never have written this stuff using my brain alone.My natural ability to rhyme is so weak, it's scary,and so too is my bitesize vocabulary.Without online tools, I would forever and always have been unknown.
688. She called me the other dayto pronounce she had nothing to say.I said, "So ─ should we just hang up?"She said, "That’s up to you, buttercup."I said, " ─ Okaaay ─"
689. A tiny, Irish girl in big, kelly-green galorsheswent alone at night to go traipse through the desolate, Irish marches.She immediately stepped on a huge, black snake,and full of dread and terror, began to violently shake,quickly turning this poem toward the tragic ─ and away from the farcious.
690. “It's more about the act of writing than about what it actually says.Just as it's more about the head than it is about the fez.I write for self-healing ─it’s with that that my poetry is dealing. Is there a problem with that?” asked the poet of the University Prez.
"─ Aaah ─ yes!"
691. I was doing an extra hour of late-night, neighborhood-crime watch.I did it, even though our neighborhood doesn't experience crime much.So, it was mainly to showthat I'm a good neighbor, you know,even though I'm not in touch with any of my neighbors all that much.
692. The brain surgeon was doing a little utility work in my head.The electricity in there had somewhat gone dead.And the pipe that leaked water on my brain,she fixed with great industry and pain.But as to how the gas smell got there, she was at odds to explain.
693. I'm the unmoved mover.I've lived in the same house since the presidency of Herbert Hoover.I've moved plenty of people, but no one's ever moved me.So up to now, I’ve existed without sadness and without glee.But if I ever need it, would you kindly consider helping to move me?
694. If I were late for death,death would just have to wait, I guess,till such a timeI was finished with my final rhyme,and had sent my ultimate poem off to the press.
695. I'm so lousy at art ─ I couldn't even draw a crooked line.But in poetry, I could always do a crooked line just fine.As a matter of fact, a crooked line is elementalin a funky form of poetry called experimental,where you can do it on purpose ─ or totally accidental.
696. Oh, I wish people would get off of their fucking high horse.
There ain't nothing wrong with anytime, consensual intercourse.
As long as after,
the two can share mutual joy and mutual laughter,
and that, if unwed, at least one of them is wearing protection, of course.
697. How can she be the life of the party,when she continues to be continually tardy?It's already a quarter past one ─guests are leaving or have long since gone.Life of the party? These days? Hardly.
698. A skinny yellow candle in a green bottle of wine.The candle is yours; the bottle is mine.The candle's still burning, but the wine’s drunk and gone.Let’s snuff out the candle, and try to get some sleep before dawn.
699. “Learn the rules, then burn the rules,”I said to Jonny Square.“And when you're done,you might become someonewith some imagination and some flair.”
700. Be careful when you go to Crete.The cops there aren't any too sweet.Hell, they'll even give you a ticket,if you buy an ice cream and lick iton the wrong side of the street.
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