Lewd Limericks

[Mufflover]

Originally Posted by Ogri

There was a young girl from Cape Cod,
Who dreamed she was sleeping with God.
‘Twas not the Almighty,
Who pulled up her nightie,
‘Twas Roger, the lodger, the sod.

Older version:

There was a young girl from Cape Cod,
Who thought babies all came from God.
But 'twas not the Almighty,
Who lifted her nightie,
‘Twas Roger the Lodger, by God!

[Mufflover]

There was an old hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
You have admit
That he was a shit,
But think of the money he'd save!

[electile disfunction]

I understand that there are three types of limericks: 1) those to share with clergy present; 2) those to share with women present; 3) all others.

So, here are three for you.

_____

Mary had a little lamb
And then went back for seconds ...

_____

There was a young girl of Madrass
Who had a truly magnificent ass.
Not round and pink,
As you probably think,
But was gray, had long ears, and ate grass.

_____

An anthropologist up with the Sioux
Sent an order: "Two punts, one canoe."
The reply the next day
Said, "Girls on the way.
What in the Hell's a 'panoe'?"

e.d.

[electile disfunction]

Here is a classic limerick. This version taken from:
http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiFARTER.html
(in case the link disappears).

e.d.


The Farter From Sparta

There was a young farter from Sparta,
A really magnificent farter,
On the strength of one bean
He'd fart "God Save the Queen",
And Beethovens Seventh Sonata.

He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute,
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian.

He could whistle, could warble and hum,
By constricting the hole in his bum,
And make animal sounds,
Or fire artillery rounds,
With the force of a field cannon gun.

The fabulous farter from Sparta,
Performed at command by Royal Charter,
Did Brahms, Grieg and Mozart,
For 'piano and fart',
And for an encore he did Bach's Toccata.

His repertoire ranged from classics to jazz,
He achieved new effects with bubbles of gas.
With a good dose of salts
He could fart a waltz
Or swing it in razzamatazz.

He's accompanied Oasis and Blur,
And done backing music for Cher,
Though his style is obscene,
It's been used on big screen,
In sound effects on the movie Ben Hur.

He'd fart a gavotte for a starter,
And whiffle a fine serenata.
He could play on his anus
The Coriolanus:
Ood, boom, er-tum, tootle, yum tah-dah !

His basso profundo with timbre so rare
He rendered quite often, with power to spare.
But his great work of art,
His fortissimo fart,
He saved for the Marche Militaire.

When Sparta's farter was truly on form,
His asshole could outplay a French horn,
He'd give all day recitals,
With the air from his vitals,
After a large plate of leeks and some corn.

This sparkling young farter from Sparta,
His fart for no money would barter.
He could roar from his rear
Any scene from Shakespeare
Or Gilbert and Sullivans Mikado.

He could imitate jets supersonic,
Or play compositions symphonic,
He played Handel's Messiah,
He reached top C and higher,
But only after a mammoth colonic.

A family size can of baked beans,
Could fuel the main movie themes,
Star Wars and some westerns,
Were most often requested,
Though the odour was somewhat obscene.

Spurred on by a very high wager
With an envious German named Bager,
He'd proceeded to fart
The complete oboe part
Of a Haydn Octet in b-major.

He could play Holst's Mars and Uranus,
By expelling the air from his anus,
He did Copacabana,
But his Carmina Burana,
Was proclaimed a cantus profanus.

This man with the musical arsehole,
Was asked to perform at a castle,
He ignited his gas,
Near exploded his ass,
And the Count cried out 'Once more, you rascal!'

One day he was dared to perform
The William Tell Overture Storm,
But naught could dishearten
Our spirited Spartan,
For his fart was in wonderful form.

The Count hosted the concert with style,
And the queue to get in was a mile,
The farter ate leeks,
Lived on beans for two weeks,
Knowing his farts were on trial.

He practised by farting some tunes,
Till his arsehole made sounds like bassoons,
Symphonies, sonatas,
Serenades and cantatas,
And the theme from The Mouse on the Moon.

He played The Ride of The Valkyries,
And brought the whole crowd to their knees,
Women fainted and screamed,
At The Dambusters theme,
And The Flight of the Bumblebee.

He farted on feeling quite merry,
Did the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies,
His farts echoed and swelled,
(And so did the smell),
And his face went as red as a cherry.

With a smell like a heap of manure,
He began the William Tell Overture,
They gasped as it started,
Cheered the farter from Sparta,
And soon they were screaming for more.

It went off in capital style,
As he farted it through with a smile,
Then, feeling quite jolly,
He reached the Finale,
Blowing double-stopped farts all the while.

The selection was tough, I admit,
But it did not dismay him one bit,
Then, with arse thrown aloft
He suddenly coughed....
And collapsed in a shower of shit.

One mammoth turd blocked up his arse,
Around it no fart could be passed,
His bowel filled with farts,
From his arse to his heart,
And inflated his belly with gas.

All at once the poor farter exploded,
His expanding bowel overloaded,
The room filled with screams,
As gas-filled intestines,
Rose up to the ceiling and floated,

Like a string of long brown balloons,
His innards were strung round the room,
The odour was ripe,
So the Count lit his pipe,
And the whole place went up with a BOOM!

His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
Where they buried the rest of our farter,
With a gravestone of turds
Inscribed with these words:
"To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."

[Ogri]

Hats Off to you Electile, I know when I'm beaten!

Ah but wait, what's this coming over the top of the hill?!

[Mal Hombre]

There was a young girl from Cape Cod
Who thought she'd been buggered by god
But it was'nt Jehovah,
Who rolled her over,
But Roger the lodger,the sod.

[electile disfunction]

Originally Posted by Ogri

Hats Off to you Electile, I know when I'm beaten!

Please keep posting! I am glad you like them but this isn't a contest!

We share what we have and what we think others might appreciate. I didn't write these limericks (mine have never been good) and I am sure that "The Farter From Sparta" has grown by at least 4 verses since the first time I found it 25 years ago so it certainly isn't original--but I hope the first writer appreciates how it has grown.

There are great limericks out there--original and borrowed, large and small--and I believe the people of VEF should find and share them.

e.d.

[margib]

The randy old Count of Slovboda
Wouldn't pay to a whore what he owed her.
So with great savoire faire, she stood on a chair,
and pissed in his whisky and soda.


An Indian lad in Darjeeling
Once had a wonderful feeling.
Whilst shagging a whore, his balls hit the floor.
And his arse made a hole in the ceiling.

[Clouddancer]

Said the mother superior "Lordy"
I must speak to the nuns at Kircauldy
Their habits are rough all sackcloth & stuff
But their knickers are crotchless & gaudy

There once a man called Tuppingham
who stood on the bridge at Buckingham
watching the stunts of the cunts in the punts
and the tricks of the pricks that were fucking em

[willy9b]

There was a young lady from France,
Who boarded a bus in a trance.
The passengers fucked her,
And then the conductor,
While the driver came off in his pants.

There was a young man from Kent,
Whose tool was exceedingly bent.
To save himself trouble,
He pushed it in double,
And instead of coming -- he went!

A randy old bishop named Denzel
Sharpened it up like a pencil.
It went through an actress,
Two sheets and a mattress,
And shattered a bedroom utensil!

There was a young man from Leeds,
Who swallowed a packet of seeds.
A bright blue lily
Grew out of his Willy,
And his arse was a garden of weeds.

A randy young plumber named Lee,
Was plumbing his girl by the sea.
Said the girl "stop plumbing --
There's somebody coming!"
Said the plumber (still plumbing) "it's me!"

There was a young man from Australia,
Who painted his arse like a dahlia.
At five cents a smell,
It went down bloody well,
But at ten cents a lick was a failure.