Friday, August 14, 2015

Funny Friday


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During the week I quoted a limerick with a message to someone, I don't recall what it was, but that reminded me that it has been quite a while since we've had some limericks in Bytes.  So strap in for some limerick fun, laze and gem . . .

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There have been limericks, posted previously in Bytes, that explain that the best limericks are somewhat rude. Here are some more:

At Harvard a randy old Dean 
Said: 'The funniest jokes are obscene. 
To bowdlerize wit. 
Takes the shit out of it – 
Who wants a limerick clean?'

The limerick’s callous and crude, 
Its morals distressingly lewd; 
It’s not worth the reading 
By persons of breeding - 
It’s designed for us vulgar and rude. 

It needn’t have ribaldry’s taint 
Or strive to make everyone faint. 
There’s a type that’s demure
And perfectly pure, 
Though it helps quite a lot if it ain’t. 

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Even noted writers have turned their hands  and minds to limericks. This is one by Mark Twain.

(To assist in working it out, I will give the hint that "Co" would normally be read in full as "Company").

A man hired by John Smith and Co.
Loudly declared that he'd tho.
Men that he saw
Dumping dirt near his door
The drivers, therefore, didn't do. 

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There was a young belle of old Natchez
Whose garments were always in patchez.
When comments arose
On the state of her clothes,
She replied, “When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez.”

- Ogden Nash

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And one by William Shakespeare, Othello, Act 2, Scene 3:

And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink
A soldier’s a man;
A life’s but a span;
Why, then, let a soldier drink.

(Okay, so it's not as good as the Man from Nantucket and the Helen Keller limericks...)

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Even a Brit Prime Minister has dabbled:

Few thought he was even a starter.
There were many in life who were smarter.
But he finished PM,
A CH, an OM,
An earl and a Knight of the Garter.

- Clement Attlee (about himself) 

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Some limericks that utilise odd pronunciations of place names:

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"Gloucester" is pronounced "Gloster":

An old couple living in Gloucester
Had a beautiful girl, but they loucester;
She fell from a yacht,
And never the spacht
Could be found where the cold waves had toucester.

A young man of Gloucester named Foucester,
Had a wife who ran off with a coucester.
He traced her to Leicester,
And tried to arreicester,
But in spite of these efforts he loucester.

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"Worcester" is prounounced "Wooster":

There was a young lady of Worcester, 
Who dreamt that a rooster seduced her. 
She woke with a scream, 
But 'twas only a dream, 
A lump in the mattress had goosed her.

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"Leicester" is pronounced "Lesta":

At the bar in the old inn at Leicester
Was a beautiful bar-maid named Heicester;
She gave to each guest
Only what was the buest,
And they all, with one accord, bleicester.

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"Salisbury" is also called "Sarem", how many people pronounce “Salisbury.” “Hants” is a familiar (to Brits) abbreviation of "Hampshire":

There was a young vicar from Salisbury
Whose manners were quite halisbury-scalisbury.
He went around Hampshire
without any pampshire
'til his bishop compelled him to walisbury.

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"Beauchamp" is pronounced "Beacham" in its English pronunciation:

A youthful schoolmistress named Beauchamp
Said: These awful boys, how shall I teauchamp?
For they will not behave
Although I look grave
And with tears in my eyes I beseauchamp.

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Some general limericks:

A limerick writer named Symes 
Said, I'm so frustrated at times: 
I can do - ock and -uck, 
But with -unt I get stuck. 
I'm really quite hopeless with rhymes.

A rabbi from far-off Peru
Was desperately trying to screw.
His wife said, “Oy vey!
If you keep on this way
the Messiah will come before you.”

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A personal favourite:

Ethnologists up with the Sioux
Wired home for two punts, one canoe.
The answer next day
Said, "Girls on the way,
But what the hell's a 'panoe' ?"

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. . . and even a history lesson to finish off:

"Bruges" is pronounced to rhyme with "huge".

There once was a duchess from Bruges
whose vag was amazingly huge.
Said the king to this dame
as he thunderously came,
“Mon Dieu! Apres moi, le deluge!”

The phrase “Après moi, le déluge” (“After me, the deluge" or "After me, the flood!") is attributed to the King of France Louis XV (1710-1774). 


There are two interpretations as to its meaning: 

a. “After me the deluge will come”, meaning “After my reign, the nation will be plunged into chaos and destruction.” 

b. “After me, let the deluge come (it can come, but it makes no difference to me).”  In this second case, the speaker asserts that nothing that happens after his disappearance matters to him. 

Classical scholars favour the second interpretation. 

Fifteen years after the king’s death, the French Revolution (1789-1799) took place. It which cost the life of his grandson and successor, Louis XVI.




Corn Corner:

Courtesy of Graham, "Mr Trivia":

"Three tomatoes – a mum, a dad and their son – were out walking.

As sons do, he lagged behind and accidentally fell “splat” on the footpath.

His dad turned and yelled to him: "Ketchup, son."



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