July 2015 – Pete's Limericks

In the shit

Though ’twas only the tip, as if stung
By a cane or a whip, highly-strung,
She screamed “That’s a bit rum!
Get it out of my bum!
Struth! ‘Twas only a slip of the tongue!

Cluster-fuck

It was quite fun, she mused retrospectively;
Each had his merits respectively.
Just to be cute,
“God! I’d love a good root!”
She’d exclaimed, but not meant it collectively.

Faint heart , fair maiden

At the sight of her cunt his heart sank;
It was threatening, alien, dank,
Sort of turned inside-out
It might bite him, no doubt!
“No”, he muttered, “I think I’ll just wank.”

Star-crossed lovers

As the dagger plunged into her breast,
That by Romeo sweetly caressed,
Who lay dead by the side
Of his five-days-old bride,
“What a fuck-up!” she thought, unimpressed.

Carmina Burana

An obscure old order monastic,
Decidedly iconoclastic,
Were fuckers and drunks,
(Not your average monks),
And their rites, by and large, orgiastic.

Vive la revolution

La Duchesse was renowned for her haughtiness,
Patronage, wealth and her naughtiness;
Artists and such
Must endure her touch,
Her bad breath, sweaty bosom and wartiness.

Begging the question

She was pretty one couldn’t refute,
But the question, of course, remained moot;
Would she spurn a man’s love?
And when push came to shove,
If asked nicely enough, would she root?

Rustic idyll

He was just a crude bumpkin, a yokel,
Uncultured, not terribly vocal,
But God, could he hump!
And a cock like a stump!
And what’s more, she thought, handily local.

The gamut

First she satisfied him by hand, orally,
(Somehow, that seemed better, morally);
Strangely, quite zanily,
Then also anally,
Finally also vaginally, sorrily.*

* Imperfect rhythm in the last line, I know, but irresistible.