Your limerick doth the question beg.
Which came first, the maid or the egg?

There once was a maiden from Worcester
Who farted each time I sedorcester,
So the problem I'd handle
By the use of a candle
For plugging her bung til I jorcester.

Mishy-riddle

Scratch your dome
and guess the pome:

While perching high in sky of blue,
the eagle clasps the crag with croo-
ked hands, his prey to better view.

Above the desert brightly sunned,
he spots a hare and like a thund-
erbolt attacks the rabbit stunned.

<u>Flogging a Dead Horse</u>

I like to flog a horse or two,
especially when they're dead,
but the trouble, still, you know,
is how to get them off the bed
without a team of masochists,
using ropes and hoists and pulleys
but now the animal protectionists
(who’re the dreadful beastly bullies)
have put me in a scrape or two
for my mistreating chained-up corpses
- yes, they've plunged me in the dolphin doo
for oral, tense in porpoises.

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

— Alfred Tennyson

How could you do it, Nigel? please just tell me how?
when I'd already forgiven you for flogging that dead cow

(I apologize my friends, but have decided to delete the rest of the poem in an attempt of self-censorship!!)


Gabriëlle Joy Eleonora

(no offense)



[This message has been edited by joyeleonora (edited January 21, 2002).]

Good lord! Is heaven really such utter tedium,
that Tennyson's posting through a medium?

[This message has been edited by Nigel Holt (edited January 21, 2002).]

Nothing is sweller than Gabrielle,
no matter the number of times that I tell her.
Yet all my advances are swiftly rebuffed,
because of affaires with the recently stuffed.

I say Gabrielle that donkeys and asses
can't really compare with your valleys, crevasses,
your shapely defiles and mountainous passes
- 'tis a pity your tongue isn't faithful like Lassie's...

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/biggrin.gif

When posting puns so vile and vicious
One must endure retorts malicious.

How Gabrielle's disclosure makes me wonder
what she so rashly posted, then withdrew?
Did she regret an anapestic blunder. . .
or intimate confession? Wish I knew.

Like Gypsy Rose, her clothing tantalizes
more than any skin she lets us glimpse,
and when she's cold my temperature rises.
Silence and discretion are her pimps.

There's so much more I want to write, and did,
but followed her example and deleted.
In fact, I wrote an epic, which I hid
and plan to burn as soon as it's completed.