PLEASE NOTE NEW, EMERGENCY, (literally) LAST-DAY RULE CHANGES BELOW!!!11!!!!
Time for the 8th (I think) annual Metamorphosism International Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest.
Enter in the comments to this post.
Winners will be announced on 14 February, 2009.
ENTER AS OFTEN AS YOU LIKE!!! But read the rules before entering! Or else!
IMPORTANT NOTICE: THERE HAS BEEN A SMALL CHANGE IN THE RULES FOR THIS YEAR’S CONTEST!!
SECOND IMPORTANT NOTICE! THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER RULE CHANGE!
- Poems entered must be an actual limerick. We are strict about this.
- Entries must contain a Latin word or phrase.
- Extra points awarded for working in one of the following: a king, a burlesque performer, an extinct or rare musical instrument, a prosthesis, NEW: an obsolete, extinct or rare musical instrument. NEW RULE CHANGE HERE: No kings, prostheses or obsolete musical instruments after all. All entries with kings, prostheses or obsolete musical instruments will be disqualified. Unusual or innovative musical instruments will still be allowed. Instead of kings, extra points will be awarded for parasitic diseases affecting the behavior of rats. Prostheses and prosthetic devices shall be replaced by surgical equipment.
- NEW RULES (made necessary by the unfortunate flame war in the entries): entries are to include themes of general bawdiness, redeption and reconciliation. Bonus characters: famous peace activists, famous ventriloquists, escape artists. Bonus languages: Latin, Icelandic.
- 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.)
Feel free to search this site for past winners. Good luck.
We heard Mark Deutsch play the bazantar,
We know now to rhyme it with lantern,
That’s without the “n”,
Now let’s try this again,
O merda! We’ll rhyme it with panther!
Ann is Jann, Jann is Ann, not man
There’s only one girl in her gang
So perhaps we’ll be missed
By the rats we’ve not kissed
But not by anon, Jann or Ann
There once was a man from Mount Lucas
Who had shocking pain from his verucas
Ex parte, his wife
Whipped them off with a knife
Amber Marie would have used her bazoukas
Jann, i confess that Anon it is I
I sent her in as a spy
I’m glad that she fooled ya
Cos i send her inter alia
to see with whom you would lie
I have thought for a time re this game,
The three of you; one and the same,
But it don’t really matter,
It’s just so much chatter,
Re vera, the whole thing’s quite lame.
Well, what I still say is “Game on,”
And it’s quite fun to write to Anon,
“I think you’re quite sexy,
“Don’t get apoplexy,
“Or you might not wake up come the dawn.”
I’m sorry Jann, I prefer Muireann
Her breasts are firm, she’s quite a woman
You say her verse is quite lame
Oh how could you so defame
Though nox erat, there’s nothing stirrin’
Anon, it’s just fun that I poke,
How sad that you don’t get the joke,
I don’t think you’re funny,
Nor sexy, poor Honey,
Ad rem. More a pig in a poke!
Poke rhyming with poke, how novel
I think after this you will grovel
Your pig talk is loco
See I’ve seen your photo
Your face darling does rather trouble
My friend Trish said that was quite cruel
you could in fact be a jewel
re vera you’re a stranger
and there is no danger
I’ve seen your photo at school
You’re right, it has got quite tawdry
reminds me of sad burlesque Audrey
She started quite sweet
but fell on her feet
inter alia power swept her away
Your insults will do you no good,
It’s you they hurt, and so they should,
For me it’s all fun,
For all and for one,
Ad rem? Go on out to the wood!
Jann, it’s just fun that I poke,
How sad that you don’t get the joke,
I don’t think you’re funny,
Nor sexy, poor Honey,
Ad rem. More a pig in a poke!
Anon, it is true you’re quite boring,
Re vera, I’m quite close to snoring,
You see, I have a name,
You don’t; not the same!!!!
You’d sure not get anyone soaring!
Anon, you won’t tell who you are,
Indeed, this has gone way too far,
I’m so sad for you,
I might say boo hoo,
Ad rem. Go get drunk in a bar!
I told you above I invented anon
But now I feel quite put upon
I don’t want to spar
you have gone too far
I’ll be in the woods until you’re gone
Anon, you’re untruthful by far,
This “contest” has got quite bizarre,
You’ve stolen my verse,
That’s sure worth a curse,
Aw c’mon now. Admit who you are.
My name is Muireann, larger than life
A little burlesque, a lousy wife
I’m quick on my feet
Not all that meek
And good friends I tend to keep
Muireann, I just don’t give a hoot,
Lousy wife or a good one, to boot,
I just talk to Anon,
Who is pulling a con,
So get out of my way now, toot toot!
There is obviously no talking to you Jann
Over and out
Nor to you, either, “Anon”
See you anon, Anon
And so Anon had finally departed
Trish wondered how it all started
Re her hamster who died
Her friend had just tried
to make proceedings lighthearted
Isn’t it funny what Limericks reveal
My mater poo pooed their appeal
She said they were drivel
No more than a scribble
But to me the encounter was real
Yes I mentioned my mother above
A scholar who does latin love
she queried “culpum”
But it does rhyme with bum
Re Latin she thinks I’m a dud
re valentine massacre I’m sorry
Got carried away in the flurry
Trish you’re my best friend
didn’t mean to offend
mea culpa, begob and begorry
Now Trish is in bed with the flu
At least broadband is fixed, yahoo
Do floosies get flu/sick?
Burlseque Amber Marie did
But that was more in re the coup
King Tut reclines in lux sit
or so he always thought it
but his queen told him
so royally dim
Means not, “Comfy Chair”. you git.
Crappy rhyme but do i get extra points for working in our Alma Mater’s logo? (Which I still believe must mean “Comfy Chair”)?
The word “king” means the entry is out,
Yes, that’s what the rules are about,
But some do not read them,
Or p’rhaps just don’t heed them,
Ad rem: the instructions they flout!
A man who had got Toxoplasma,
Tried to pass as a dancer named Yasma,
He got fake bazooms,
But they popped just like balloons,
And gave off noxious fumes that caused asthma!
The words “fake bazooms” mean you’re out.
Yes that’s what the rules are about.
A prosthetic factor
Ergo my anal retractor
Reckons here too the rules have no clout.
These rules mean not so much to thee,
Some people exceed decency,
People write what they want,
Maybe all should exeunt,
Male fide! That’s indeed what I see.
Ann is my name, in the middle,
From the day I was born; it’s no riddle,
But I think there’s no Rish,
Nor even a Trish,
Ad rem? I say fiddle de diddle.
Sit vitiorum meorum evacuatio
Concupiscentae et libidinis exterminatio,
Caritatis et patientiae,
Humilitatis et obedientiae,
Omniumque virtutum augmentatio.
Let it be for the elimination for my sins,
For the expulsion of desire and lust,
[And] for the increase of charity and patience,
Humility and obedience,
As well as all the virtues.
It’s great that there now are more entrants,
Though some, I have heard, have no pants,
The more people there are,
The more fun by far,
Even though some are given to rants!
The lady could play the bazantar,
While riding her horse at a canter,
The circus she joined,
Though act was purloined,
She could play just as well on a panther!
But Rish, too, is my name in part.
I’ve got pants galore, and a heart.
I do strum on my lute, hey!
And sing “Et tu, Rute”
And I do it all, dressed as a tart.
That’s what Ann just said, uh, ahem,
We’ve got entrants galore, ad idem,
Who cares what their names are,
It’s more what their games are,
Can they write some good limericks, ad rem?
Pingback: Metamorphosism» Blog Archive » On the Decline of Blogging and the Metamorphosism St. Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest Massacre Last-Minute Rule Change
Poor Muireann is just out of court
she finally went back to work
what’s this – a rule change?
and nasty exchange?
Icelandic? in re I only know Bjork
Iceland? is that not the shop?
where everything’s frozen and chopped
me and Cholita latina know our matina
But per Icelandic we are at a loss
Rish I think we have been a bit rash
we banged off our poems in a dash
islanska’s the rule
we’ll just have to pool
and get inter alia mish mash
Ég heiti Muireann Ég er frá Ireland
My Mater once dated Doug Garland
But i’m not nitpicking
And i’m certainly not sticking
to limericks that come from Iceland
I’m sorry i had to drop out
But love rat got struck down with gout
It made my poor honey
get tight with his money
and he gave me nil per mouth
i’m sorry i’m off to the Opera
with James and Burlesque Deborah
then they’re coming for dinner
so i can’t be the winner
Good luck trish,ergo i love ya
I’m sad now to go but that’s that
I loved Jann and Ann and our spat
But I’m off to a show
As you already know
Góða nótt or nox erat
Ah Mig I love when it’s vicious
Nastiness can be quite delicious
pursued by a bear
Exeunt there and there
Gangi þér vel my old Trish us
Muireann, our spat’s all in the past,
With me, things like that never last,
My favorite, Moon Líly,
Still loves her hill bílly,
They dance off their pants; what a blast!
The bawdy performer Moon Líly,
Has a husband, six kids, and a filly,
Has bazookas galore,
Still looks twenty-four,
And owns ten shows ‘tween here and Philly.