Monday, January 08, 2007

Pitiful Poetry, Part 1

Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,

I've got nuclear waste in my eye!

Since I became a spy,

I'm lucky to be alive.

'Cause Putin's been endlessly plotting my demise!


Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,

I've got a new law I'd like to decry

No child left behind

Is wasting my time

All the extra paperwork is making me blind!


Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie

Justin Timberlake is one spicey guy!

He's made a new flick

That heats me up quick

But the plot is really ridiculous! It's a story that I would never watch under other circumstances, like, say, it starred someone else, like, I don't know, maybe Mel Gibson.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007


Some folks say limerick writing's a crime.

Or at best, a complete waste of one's time.

Though they're sometimes amusing,

often vile, or confusing.

They're the oldest known examples of rhyme.

Red Green once said, "Poems don't have to rhyme and they don't have to be dirty, but people seem to prefer them that way." I agree. So without further ado, here's some limericks.

There was a young lady from Cue,

Who filled her vagina with glue.

She said with a grin,

"If they will pay to get in,

They'll pay to get out of it too."


There was a young girl named Maxine,

Who found a new use for the bean.

As a vaginal bearing,

She found it long wearing,

And it varied her f*cking routine.


The prior of Dunstan St. Just,

Consumed with erotical lust,

Raped the Bishop's prize fowls,

Buggered four startled owls,

And a little green lizard, that bust.


Oh, pity the Duchess of Kent!

Her c*nt was so dreadfully bent,

The poor wench doth stammer,

"I need a sledgehammer

To pound a man into my vent."


A broken-own harlot named Tupps

Was heard to confess in her cups:

"The height of my folly

Was f*cking a collie-

But I got a nice price for the pups."