When you hear the word Limerick, many thoughts pop into your head. Third largest city in Ireland. The River Shannon. Terry Wogan. Extremely high sales of kitchen knives.
You may also think of a five-line witty poem in amphibrachic meter, popularised by Edward Lear in 19th Century England.
Or maybe you'll just think of all the knives. But anyway.
Driven by my haiku experience I went ahead and composed one such poem; striving for a theme, I just basically summarised my own being-confronted-by-hoodies-in-North-London story.
There once was a blogger named Brendan,
Who got himself lost outside Hendon;
At hoodies he yelped,
Driven by my haiku experience I went ahead and composed one such poem; striving for a theme, I just basically summarised my own being-confronted-by-hoodies-in-North-London story.
There once was a blogger named Brendan,
Who got himself lost outside Hendon;
At hoodies he yelped,
yet they seemed to have helped,
But the fuckin wrong way did send him.
I thank you. Incidentally, inspiration for today's blog topic comes from the one, the only Mr Eric 'almost-rhymes-with-petting-zoo' Pettigrew (who shall retain the nickname of Blogfather from now on cos let's face it, there are only so many nicknames I can come up with. And I'm clearly already struggling).
But the fuckin wrong way did send him.
I thank you. Incidentally, inspiration for today's blog topic comes from the one, the only Mr Eric 'almost-rhymes-with-petting-zoo' Pettigrew (who shall retain the nickname of Blogfather from now on cos let's face it, there are only so many nicknames I can come up with. And I'm clearly already struggling).
His contribution- a riposte to the Dirk Bloggler observation- is as follows:
There once was a man from Ghent,
Whose cock was so long it was bent;
To save himself trouble,
He put it in double,
And instead of coming...he WENT.
boom boom.
There once was a man from Ghent,
Whose cock was so long it was bent;
To save himself trouble,
He put it in double,
And instead of coming...he WENT.
boom boom.
Till next time,
CB
Russian Nesting Blog:
ReplyDeleteLimericks were originally conceived as the Gent's equivalent of what contemporary society knows as "Lads Mags." Instead of ogling naked women with Tupperware(c) chests, men in the fourth qunitile of the 20th C. would spend public poos reading rhymes inscribed on the stall walls beginning "There once was a man from Nantucket" or "There once was a woman from Dallas." The absolute-zero of cool was discovering a Limerick written about your own good self, like the one in the middle stall of the shared ground-floor facilities in San Miguel Hall at UCSB (University of California, Surf Board) circa 1975 that read:
Said the woman, a friend of T Wells,
When it happens I ought to hear bells.
But I sit there in bed
With good old T Fred
And wait while that little thing swells.
Enough to make you wish the French had a word for homage.
Or my friend's girlfriend in DC (who went to North Carolina, the archrival of my alma mater Duke University) , who penned this birthday limerick which she read out to my mate, a law student at Georgetown at the time, with me in attendance:
ReplyDeleteI can tell you that it is no fluke
One thing about Joel makes me puke
It's bad that he studies
But worse that he's buddies
With Eric, that wadhead, from Duke.
Oof.
Hard but fair.