There seem to be a few of you out there who continue to request a selection of down&dirty limericks. I’m feeling a little down&dirty myself today, so I’ll bow to the pressure and offer up a few.
He was an American writer and professor of biochemistry at Boston University. A prolific writer, he wrote or edited more than 500 books. He also wrote an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards. Best known for his hard science fiction, Asimov also wrote mysteries and fantasy, as well as a great deal of non-fiction.
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I’ve been a fan of Isaac Asimov, for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried to read everything of his that I could find and have never regretted it. He’s one of the most prolific writers who’ve ever lived and is well-versed in virtually any topic someone would like to talk about. Over the years I’ve also discovered that he was one of the funniest writers as well and has written books of limericks and stories that were outrageously funny. I recently acquired a book of his from 1992 (the year of his death) titled Azimov Laughs Again. It’s a volume of funny stories from his life as well as some of his favorite jokes and limericks. Here are a couple jokes to help get your day started.
Mr. Ginsberg, age 83, went to the doctor for a complete examination head to toe. About halfway through, the doctor was called to the telephone. He said, “Mr. Ginsberg, this will not take more than a few minutes. Here’s a jar. While I am gone, go to the bathroom and place a semen sample in it for examination. Then we’ll continue. “A few minutes later, the doctor indeed returned, and there stood Mr. Ginsberg with the jar- totally empty. “Doctor,” said Mr. Ginsberg. “I did my best. I tried with my right hand, and I tried with my left hand. I even tried with both hands, but nothing happened. The doctor said soothingly, “Now, Mr. Ginsberg, don’t feel embarrassed. At the age of 83, it is quite common to be impotent.” Whereupon Ginsberg said, with towering indignation, “What do you mean, impotent? I couldn’t open the jar.”
Old Mr. Anderson and his equally aged wife were filing for divorce. The judge, eyeing them with astonishment, said, “How old are you, Mr. Anderson?” “Ninety-three”, Your Honor. “And your wife?” “Ninety-one”, Your Honor.” “And how long have you been married?” “Sixty-six years.” “Then why do you want to get a divorce now?” “Well, you know how it is, Your Honor.” We were waiting for the children to die.”
He has an interesting sense of humor and I freaking love it. Here’s a small add-on which is one of his favorite limericks.
These limericks were published in New York in 1965. They made their way into my hands via the Northside School Library in Rogers, Arkansas. The last date the book was signed out was on April Fool’s Day in 1967. From reading them I would guess many of them were written in Great Britain, but I’ll note the authors when I can. Enjoy!
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There was a young man of Calcutta
Who spoke with a terrible stutta,
At breakfast he said,
“Get me some b-b-b-bread
And b-b-b-b-b-b-butta.”
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By Robert Louis Stevenson
There once was an old man of the Cape,
Who made himself garments of crepe.
When asked, “Do they tear?”
He replied, “Here and there,
But they’re perfectly splendid for shape!”
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A small boy when asked to spell “yacht,”
Most saucily said, “I will nacht.”
So, his teacher in wrath,
Took a section of lathe,
And warmed him up well on the spacht.
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There was a young bard of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When they said it was so,
He replied “Yes I know,
But I make a rule of always trying to get just as many words into the last line as I possibly can.”
“The great poet is always a seer, seeing less with the eyes of the body
than he does with the eyes of the mind.”
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)
I’ve been consistently nagged in recent months to post some of my own poetry. It’s not something I do or will do until the poetry gods speak to me. In recent months they’ve been oddly quiet. As with anyone writing poetry a person has to be moved by emotions. Love and hatred are two huge motivators that are fueled by a host of other lesser emotions like a few weeks or months of depression or celebration. Once I’m moved to write poetry it’s to either express a low and morbid mood or I’m flying high with love or joy over something important only to me. Let’s let some experts in on this conversation.
“Poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by Singularity – it should strike the Reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts and appear almost a Remembrance.” John Keats (1795-1821)
“Poetry begins . . . when we look from the center outward.” Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
“A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.” Robert Frost (1874-1963)
“The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it.” Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
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And here is the quote that makes and explains my initial point from the first paragraph.
‘All good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotions recollected in tranquility.”
I thought today I’d touch on sports again since it’s that time of the year when so many sport finals are being played. I thought I’d start off with a little tidbit on basketball, a sport that I’m not all that crazy about. I have a grandson who is absolutely nuts for basketball, so this is in his honor and anyone else that loves the sport as much he does.
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How far does a basketball player run during a game? The distance can vary greatly, but some years ago Ben Peck, a coach at Middlebury, Vermont, decided to find out. He put pedometers on the feet of all of his players. Here are the results:Overall, his team traveled a total of 24.01 miles, 11.97 in the first half and 12.04 in the second half. Forward Fred Lapham ran the farthest, 5.31 miles. The other forward, Tom Neidhart, covered 5.14 miles. Center Bob Adsit ran 4.25 miles. The guards averaged 2.66 miles each.
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Now Back to Baseball.
In 1876 a pitcher named Joe Borden of Boston Hurled the first no-hitter in the history of the National League. But Borden couldn’t leave well enough alone. Soon after the game he changed his style of pitching and began to lose his stuff. Borden went steadily downhill, and by the end of the season he was no longer a pitcher – he was the club’s groundskeeper.
Many pitchers have gone into the ninth inning working on a no-hitter, only to see it spoiled. On April 7, 1918, Odis “Doc” Crandall of the Los Angeles Angels had a perfect game going against Salt Lake City. With two out in the ninth inning, not a man had reached base. Then Doc’s brother, Karl Crandall, came to bat. He dumped a dinky base hit just over the infielders’ heads. This is the only case on record where a pitcher’s no-hitter was broken up by his own brother.
One of the most famous of all poems is “Casey at the Bat”, which was written by Ernest Thayer. It has been read by millions and recited by dozens of actors. In the poem, Casey, a great slugger, comes to bat with his team behind in the ninth inning. There are two outs and runners on base. Casey can win the game with a home run but unfortunately strikes out. A great deal is known about Casey’s team from Mudville. The poem names and describes the four batters ahead of Casey – Cooney, Barrows, Flynn and Jimmy Blake. The poet didn’t pay much attention to the other team, however. The pitcher who faced down “the Mighty Casey” and struck him out was never given a name.
Born: December 10, 1830, Died: May 15, 1886 (aged 55)
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I’m something of a fan of serious poetry and an even bigger fan of those bawdy limericks I post so often. I guess I’m simply a fan of creative people who aren’t afraid to bare their souls to us. I’ve noticed over the years that creative types are a breed all their own. Many are looked upon as being a little strange or weird which has always seemed unfair. Being strange or weird for me is a badge of honor. Let me share the following with you.
Emily Dickinson, whose poetry thrills millions today, fantasized about the earth and sky and heaven itself, but left her home state, Massachusetts, exactly once, and that was to visit her father in Washington DC. She became such a recluse that she would not stay in the same room with her guests but would speak to them from an adjoining room.
Only seven of her poems were published in her lifetime. After her death in 1886, over 1,000 poems were discovered in a bureau. They were subsequently published, but often after word and punctuation changes were made by overzealous editors. A definitive edition of her works did not appear until the 1950’s.
As with all artists and other creative types, you never seem to get the recognition and fame you deserve until you’re dead.
With September already over and cold temperatures beginning, it’s time to have some fun before the snow starts flying. With the holidays approaching I thought I’d publish a revised version of the Worker’s Prayer. This is posted for all of those people (my better-half included) that are stuck in thankless retail jobs across the country.
The Worker’s Prayer
“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I cannot accept and the wisdom to hide the bodies of those people I had to kill today because they pissed me off, and also help me to be careful of the toes I step on today, as they may be connected to the ass I may have to kiss tomorrow.”
And just for the hell of it I decided to author a haiku as requested by a friend. Here it is.
As promised, here is the second installment of David McCord’s limerick writing primer. He not only shows how to write a limerick but gives excellent examples of the various types you can create.
A few weeks ago, I promised you limerick lovers some really bawdy and rude limericks. I have quite a collection of those, but I hesitate to post them because it would be really bad if any children were to read them. I recently bought a book from an online thrift store which contains 1001 of the rudest limericks I’ve ever seen. I’m still considering whether to post any of them or at least try to find a few that are a little less objectionable.
Just to give you some idea what I’m talking about I thought I would regale you with an erotic poem written by the author of the book, Mr. Ronald Stanza. This little ditty was copied directly from the rear page of his book cover. Good luck.
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Here now is a steamy collection
Of limericks rare. Each selection
Will run for five lines,
Contain marvelous rhymes –
Detailing sex acts of subtle complexion.
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Though often the rhyming is coarse
And the meter is ragged, or worse.
Positions are randy
The sex is jim-dandy
In this book of libidinous verse.
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Some readers may think that it’s crude
To offer for sale what is lewd
But if you’re offended
By what is appended.
We’ll say what you are: you’re a prude!
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For others the thought of an organ
Of sex is a scream. And it’s sure fun
To peep and to poke
And make sex a joke.
If a fault, it’s delightfully human!
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The more I read this little ditty the more I like it. A special thanks goes out to Mr. Ronald Stanza for his fine work. I’ll let you know about the final decision on the week of lewd limericks in a few days, but it isn’t looking good.
