Sunday, March 30, 2008

Hack Sabbath

As lord of this limerick fest
Each Sunday I should get a rest
But fans here demand
I can what I planned
And daily with rhymes thou art blessed

8 comments:

Norm Knott said...

Call me Prissy or Nancy or Beth
But what I fear is Fear Agent's breath
His friends don't grow old
Because I've been told
Just a whiff of his whisper spells Death

surlyh said...

Well, Prissy, you overreact
This fatal bad breath, far from fact
It ain't halitosis
You get from osmosis:
You'll die from his fart's foul impact

Norm Knott said...

So whether sweet nothings he's cooing
Or platefuls of beans he's imbuing
If you are clever
Avoid whatever
His top or his bottom is spewing

surlyh said...

Exactly.

For those of you who are in doubt
Which end is about to be spout
There's no way of knowing
Which end is blowing
So fast as you can just get out!

Backthrow said...

Be it garlic or sauerkraut weiners
Or seven-course Mex-hi-can deeners
If he's in the same room
Surly will seal my doom
'Cause my HazMat suit's out at the cleaners!

surlyh said...

Well excuse me for having my dinner
But if I didn't eat I'd get thinner
When I haven't et
I get so thin thet
At anorexic contests I'm winner

Norm Knott said...

Surly surely can shovel it in
He then washes it down with sloe gin
He sloshes it 'round,
Spits up on the ground
And then starts up all over again

surlyh said...

And never will I hesitate
To finish what is on my plate
Then clean plate with bread
Pop bread in my head
And 'gurgitate that spread I ate