…the following will make your eyes bleed. BE WARNED!
There once was a limerick writer,
A bad-ass rhetorical fighter.
Who, forsaking tradition,
Risked classic Perdition,
And scornful poets brighter,
By making a sixth-line addition!
Told you so.
There once was a man named Nesser,
whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
it at last grew so small
he knew nothing at all,
and now he’s a college professor.
There once was a man from Japan
Whose poetry never would scan
He said, “I don’t know why,
but I always try
to get every #$%#&*@$%#& syllable in the last line that I possibly can!”
There once was a man from Nantucket
……ah, fuck it…..
I don’t have poetry in my anything.
My pop taught me a lot of these. 90% of them are filthy dirty.
So… how far are we from turning into Mr Worm’s Dead Poets Society?
Good one!
We’re already there.
Oh, Captain, my captain!
There was a young fellow named Pope,
Who plugged into an oscilloscope.
The cyclical trace
Of their carnal embrace
Had a damn near infinite slope.
The above gem is credited to Thomas Pynchon.
The was a young man named Frick
Who developed a marvelous trick
With an enormous erection,
He would scorn all protection…
And balance himself on his prick!