Tuesday, September 10, 2013

A Limerick

People expect me to have armed myself with a host of limericks, but such is not the case. I don't write limericks. I have always thought of limericks as the dirty prison hand job of the poetry world, unfit for true creatives. However, so great is the pressure to write one, as well as the mounting evidence that I am not, in fact, a true creative, that I have bent to the populist demand and composed a limerick. It shall be the only one I ever compose, so enjoy it, my friends:


My wyfe, I'm ashamed to admit,
Shoots bowling balls out of her slit.
That's impressive, I know,
But even more so
When she picks up the 7/10 split.


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