There were once 22 dodgy geezers in Zurich
Who loved their backs scratched and receive an arse lick
Forget the techincal report
Let their votes all get bought
And leave a decision that makes them look thick
Happy birthday to my brother Matt
Now he is 40 he is so old that
His life will be fantastic
Wearing pants that are plastic
And filling houses with ornaments and tat
We just had lunch with Aunty Dot
She was someone who we knew not
With her funny old hat
When on our table she sat
She chatted to us quite a lot
~
[she also looked like Jimmy Crankie]
There is a programme on tv
Whose appeal I fail to see
Its now a big hit
But I think its shit
I just hate that terrible Glee
~
If we have to have manure, please let it fertilise gardens not tvs
Santa Claws loves to scratch everyone
And is also a bad Christmas pun
But its agreed by most folk
He’s better than a joke
From a cracker as they are not fun
~
Alfonso had to get set
For a castration down at the vet
He had his balls taken out
But it bothered him nowt
He didn’t take long to forget
~
Now released the testicles can pursue a different career
Xmas in toy town’s a sight,
The city centre is coloured with light,
Shops open quite late,
Sometimes after eight,
So we can buy each other plenty of shite.
~
Prophet of Doom contemplating whether P=NP before embarking on his tour of cheery greetings.
A prophet from Ottery,
Had immoral places to see,
But he got rather sick,
Of finding a route that was quick,
He just wished that P equalled NP.
if you are a limerick reading fan,
And think my resolution has gone down the pan,
I am not letting my festive one leak,
And did one here last week, (see mc)
And forgot to post the following one about a man…
~
Today as I went to my train,
It seemed as if someone had no brain,
As I tried to embark,
It seemed as if for a lark,
He shut the door which to me seemed insane.
(9th October 2010)
In early evening my eyelids start to sag,As I get attacked by my recent jet lag,So without any booze,I just want to snooze,But my mornings are now less of a drag.
