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January 30, 2014 / Henning

three fine limericks


photo the irish labour party (cc by-nd)

i know what you are thinking: “limericks? how old are you? seventy? filthy ryhmes are the domain of rap nowadays! leave the limericks to the retired sailors and creepy town drunks!” i do not know why so many people look askance at poetry – maybe even more so, if it has a tendency to be vulgar. well, you should know, that you are wrong. i want to take countermeasures; and for a start, enjoy these three fine limericks.

a young schizophrenic named struther,
when told of the death of his brother,
said: “yes, it’s too bad,
but i can’t feel too sad –
after all, I still have each other.”

– anonymous

a dying mosquito exclaimed,
“a chemist has poisoned my brain!”
the cause of his sorrow
was para-dichloro-

– anonymous

there once was a man named bertold
who drank tea when the weather grew cold
as he reached for his tea cup…
oh, damn! you got limerickrolled!

– anonymous

via this, this and this page.


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