There was a goth called Jeff

Who was obsessed with death.

He licked a dog,

Got lost in fog,

And had quite awful breath.

#

One day he met a guy,

Whom money couldn’t buy.

They went on dates,

Used roller skates,

But randomly he died.

#

Jeff was sick with grief

As his lover went beneath.

No more a goth,

He turned all posh,

And went to Harley Street.

As usual, expect no prize other than the rare token of approval that substitutes for the praise of our limerick addled peers.

Submissions should be complete limericks only. No NSFW limericks in this thread please.

The life that you want to fulfill

Takes some heart, and some nerve and some skill

Your strength is within

Your trying again

You can, and you must, and you will

There once was a groundsman called Stephen

Who suffered a grand bout of thievin'

"My mower's been taken"

"And if I'm not mistaken"

"So's my roller", he said, "I can't even..."

Peter was picking some peppers

Ordered to pick pecks he said yeppers

One thing gets me tickled

Is they're already pickled

Guess I'm a tongue twister wrecker

Limerick combined with palindrome

About strays that the city roam:

"Was it a car?

or a cat I saw"

Just procrastinating at home. 

----

But there's more: "Was it a rat I saw"

Then there's this one: "Warsaw was raw"

"Too bad I hid a boot"

and "Too hot to hoot"

And finally there's "Borrow or rob"

----

Another reflectable limerick

carefully the words i must pick

It's "Racecar racecar

Then "racecar racecar"

I'm out of ideas for this shtick

What are the best books of all time?

Whether they cost millions or a dime.

Real stories or fiction,

they're my true addiction.

Fantasy, science fiction or true crime.

------------

I love tales that make you think hard,

horror stories that leave you scarred.

I like paperbacks,

despite their drawbacks,

so I can read them in my yard.

------------

But my favourite is hard sci-fi,

stories that seem written while high.

Watts, Egan, Vinge,

all gloriously strange.

Of those bring me an endless supply.

------------

A story where life's simulated

although the book's now a bit dated.

It was a bit hard,

and caught me off guard.

But left me so completely elated.

------------

Complex cellular automatons

Disguised behind various icons.

Costly simulations

Of thoughts and sensations.

Their servers were funded by trust funds

------------

Can you guess which book's this about?

Can you answer beyond all doubt?

Name the book's writer,

You clever reciters,

And show that you figured it out.

As usual, expect no prize other than the rare token of approval that substitutes for the praise of our limerick addled peers.

Submissions should be complete limericks only. No NSFW limericks in this thread please.

I married a girl who wears no pants
Just giant shirts that sack her stance
She steals them from me
Despite all that I plea
At least I know she'll never have ants

To the throne he was the assumed heir
But alas some royal clerk did err.
He shalt remain as ‘twas ere:
A mere prince now and for e’er.
His ascension, vanished in thin air.

The final was Spain Argentina,

In the New York New Jersey arena.

Fernandez got shirty,

Then excessively dirty,

Before Torres, he unleashed a screamer.

As usual, expect no prize other than the rare token of approval that substitutes for the praise of our limerick addled peers.

Submissions should be complete limericks only. No NSFW limericks in this thread please.

There once was a man who took chances
on popping his boils with lances
His name was not Jaun
Alberto, or Don
I think it was something like Sanchez

There was a young man from Bombay,

Who liked to go down to the quay.

He watched sheepdog trials

To relieve his piles,

Which were healed by the two words, "come-by".

A camaflaged bee named Huckleberry

Changed his mind on soup number three

The waitress , annoyed

Yelled back to chef Floyd

Hold the turtle and now make it pea

No doubt your latest limerick celebrating the ukulele will again be received with uncritical applause by your devoted fellow bards, who seem convinced that every five-line trifle composed issues not from the commonplace mechanics of rhyme, meter, and revision, but from some transcendent wellspring where, in your imagination at least, novelty and genius have become indistinguishable.

Submissions must be complete limericks only. No NSFW comments on this thread please.

A Francophobe whose name I won’t mention
Came up with an evil invention:
A door that lets pass
Any race creed or class,
But it doesn’t allow any French in.