Friday 15 July 2011

Limericks galore...

I have always enjoyed limericks, often times the cruder the better. What I like particularly about limericks is that in most cases there is rhyme but not necessarily reason.

It's sort of like a strobe light. Is there light or isn't there? Both counts are correct.

Scroll down to read a few of my personal bests (read favourites... like all good writings, I wish I had written it myself!)

Sadly typing it down doesn't count :(

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First a fair warning:

The limerick packs laughs anatomical
In space that is quite economical,
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean,
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

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There once was a sculptor named Phideous
Whose sculptures by most were thought hideous
He carved Aphrodite
Without even a nightie
Which shocked all the fussy fastidious

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There was a young girl from Rabat,
who had triplets, Nat, Pat and Tat;
It was fun in the breeding,
But hell in the feeding,
When she found she had no tit for Tat.

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An exceedingly fat friend of mine,
When asked at what hour he'd dine,
Replied, "At eleven,
At three, five, and seven,
And eight and a quarter past nine.

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A macho young swimmer named Dwyer,
Really liked playing with fire.
One night in the dark
He swam with a shark,
And his voice is now two octaves higher.

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A young schizophrenic named Struther,
Who learned of the death of his Brother,
Said, "I know that its bad,
But I don't feel too sad.
After all, I still have each other."

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... and finally:

God's plan made a hopeful beginning,
But Man spoilt his chances by sinning;
We trust that the story
Will end in great glory,
But at present the other side's winning.

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Care to contribute with your favourites (or your personal bests)?

Thursday 14 July 2011

Don't ask...

If in doubt... don't attempt (or ask)
Sometimes curiosity gets the best of us and we ask the question to an answer that deep down we fear is evident but hope is otherwise.

Some may call it a 'rhetoric' question,” but I see 'rhetoric' questions more as 'loaded' questions; and like loaded guns playing with them lightly might not always give the best results.

Let's look at four questions Do I look fat?; Isn't this vase nice? I love it; Would you kill for me?; Do you love me?

The answers are seemingly pre-determined, decorum dictates that the answers are, No, Yes, Yes & Yes, and in that order. However, while the questions may have seemingly evident answers, they are 'loaded' and so the responses should not be taken quiet for granted if there is reason for doubt.

Consider the following questions and their answers:

Q. Do I look fat?
A. No... but it depends, fat for a cow or a cat?

Q. Isn't this vase nice? I love it.
A. Yes... if it were a trophy for poor taste.

Q. Would you kill for me?
A. Yes... but better if you would die for me.

Q. Do you love me?
A. … er

The obvious answer should of course be a 'Yes' but according to a new report that I cam across over the internet recently was that when a Pennsylvania woman complained that her songwriter boyfriend had never written a song about her, he choked her and hit her in the face.

Apparently she complained to her boyfriend that while he had written songs about other women, he had never written about her.

So he hit her in the face.

The boyfriend has since been charged with simple assault (and is probably single again). He is currently free on bond awaiting a preliminary hearing, which is scheduled for July 25.

What did I read into this (or what should you read into it)? Well it is the basis to a Talatism truth that I discovered years ago. Don't ask if you really don't want an answer... and don't ask, more so, if in doubt. Some questions, if you have to ask, you already have the answers to as well.

Beware, a rhetoric question may often have too rhetoric an answer.

Wednesday 13 July 2011

An argument for booze

A poem by Charles Duffy published in the paper recently caught my attention. It talks about why booze is good for you.

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The horse and the mule live thirty years
And nothing know of wines and beers.
The goat and sheep at twenty die
With never a taste of scotch or rye.
The cow drinks water by the ton
And at eighteen is mostly done.
The dog at sixteen cashes in
Without the aid of rum or gin.
The cat in milk and water soaks
And then in twelve short years it croaks.
The sober, modest, bone-dry hen
Lays eggs for nogs, and the dies at ten.
The animals are strictly dry,
They sinless, live and swiftly die.
While sinful, ginful, rum-soaked men
Survive for three score years and ten.
And some of us, though might few,
Stay pickled til we're ninety-two!

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I think a fairly commendable argument if there was any.