Time for the annual Metamorphosism Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest.
Enter in the comments to this post.
Winners will be announced on 14 February, 2008.
ENTER AS OFTEN AS YOU LIKE!!! But read the rules before entering!
Rules:
- Poems entered must be an actual limerick. We are strict about this.
- Entries must have, as a theme, some aspect of human attraction, including but not limited to “love”.
- Extra points awarded for working in one of the following: a cooking implement, a Mongolian singer (by name, if possible), ocean denizen(s), a rubber boot
- Rules subject to change without warning (changes will be posted here or in a subsequent post)
(Note: Over the years, a number of rude etc expressions have been added to the comment blacklist so if the comments refuse your entry that might be the reason. In that case, mail it to me at metamorphosist (at) gmail dot c0m and I’ll set you up.)
The rubbery auto and boot,
Bounced around from tree top to tree root,
For the lovers inside,
One on t’other astride,
Up and down, back and forth, what a hoot!
The sea bass devoured the pair,
Nothing left much but bones, cloth and hair,
Lovers drowned they had learned,
When their boat overturned,
But their flesh, oh my God, what great fare!
The girl had a pin made for rolling,
And she carried it with her while strolling,
Any uppity boy,
Who thought she was coy,
Was sent away wailing and bawling!
The Mongolian crooner was rude,
His song to the cook was quite crude,
She gave him a swat,
With her cast iron pot,
He said, “Who’d have guessed her a prude?”
The lady eschewed the old coot,
Till she found she’d but one rubber boot,
New galoshes he bought her,
She then saw how he sought her,
He succeeded in pressing his suit.
The Mongolian singer, with ease,
Sang in Russian, Kazakh, and Chinese,
But her beau, hot to trot,
Who spoke only Buryat,
Used his tongue not to speak, but to please.
I told them I loved you to pieces
But the damn cops could only say ‘Jesus!’
With your head on to boil.
And your cock wrapped in foil,
And that rubber boot on your prosthesis.
“You’re a really big talent, I KNOW you are!”
I said to the chanteuse OtGONbayar.
“You’re a Mongol Madonna,
But trust me, you wanna
Lose that camel or else you won’t go too far.”
[http:www.takchin.com for the Mongolian singer Otgonbayar]
I love you like dad once did mom
Despite the effects of Clonazepam,
Because when you’re amorous,
Anti-anxious goes my anus;
May thy hairy British kingdom come.
You liked Doc Martens, didn’t you?
In them you found me at Taft Avenue
But rubber as prophylactic
Was too warm for old Dick
Now there’s lice in my pubes.
Word on these American Streets
Is that kids love Mongolian beats.
They bang wooden spoons–
So deep are their tunes
That the great Davy Jones can’t compete.
Two spry octopi in hip-waders
Playing footsy in 8 pairs of gaiters
They
While flirting with girls in galloshes,
by the seashore (a place where he washes)
some evil dolphin
started making a din
And pestered all with splishes and sploshes
Adoring Nigella on telly,
In marigolds, apron and wellies,
A man dropped his fillet
tripped over his skillet
And ended up frying his willy.
(this one is decidedly Brit-centric, Nigella Lawson is a fruity female TV chef who felates kitchen utensils, marigolds are rubber gloves and wellies are rubber boots)
The potion she made in the blender,
Was meant for her lover, Van Hender,
“How’s Van H in the sack?”
“He’s okay,” she’d say back,
But she longed for some sex that would send her.
The orca regarded the two,
Making love on their boat; they’d no clue,
With a flick he could end them,
To the bottom,’twould send them,
He thought, “No, I’ll just savor the view!”
The Mongolian singer in Philly,
Had her name changed from Maa to Moon L
The barnacles covered the jeep,
On the floor of the ocean quite deep,
The lovers illicit,
Were absconders complicit.
From their friends back on shore, not a peep.
I find a spatula’s handy
Because my dog’s whiskers get sandy
If I miss when I’m out
What he digs with his snout
And eats from the cat’s box like candy.
(Even in pets, coprophilia is still a kind of love, right?)
My Valentine’s just like a latte,
She’s sweet, picks me up and she’s hot-tay,
And if you stir her just right,
Then turn off the light,
She’s delicious, yet tastefully naught-tay!
As Eve must have said to the Snake,
“You’re SO not my type, but I’ll take
What you proffer
Since no better offer
Has come from my boyfriend, that flake.”
A wandering throat-singing bard
Stood holding a squid in his yard
With a boot on his head
And a zester, he said:
“These contests are getting too hard.”