A witch called Hermione, when drunk
Would go mad for a wand wielding hunk
Dragons got her real hot
Hippogriffs ripe to trot
She’d go wild for a werewolf’s big trunk
Last of these I promise…
A witch called Hermione, when drunk
Would go mad for a wand wielding hunk
Dragons got her real hot
Hippogriffs ripe to trot
She’d go wild for a werewolf’s big trunk
Dont trim too much, gents…
You know who to blame
No one can ever enjoy
A small black moustache
Toasty warm
Once a vet, quite the lover of rats,
mice and gerbils, but not fond of cats
Made a fine pair of mittens
from some cute persian kittens
and a tabby he made into hats
Feeling under the weather?
Heard you’re under the weather and wheezy
.
and your bottom is really quite breezy
.
and you’re head’s thick and snotty.
and your breath’s pretty grotty.
lots of fluids and rest, take it easy
That’ll teach him
Piss soaked socks, last straw
Desperate times call for the most
desperate of measures
Time brings forgiveness
and oft makes right hearts once wronged
forgiveness once more
A rude one about a woman and her need for a particularly large penis.
A cavernous lass, quite pedantic
who insisted on cocks most gigantic
No nine inchers for her
(unless girth) she don’t care
Only upwards of twelve get her frantic
I should be better than this, I know…
A closeted fellow called Bryan
Said he didn’t like cock but was tryin’
So so hard to resist
Tip the size of a fist
Big thick shaft, massive balls, oh he’s lyin’
Each time I return to this Church in Sheffield for a hatching, matching or despatching, I am thrilled to see that this sign remains.
I resisted adding a comma today as I choose to believe that at some point they did indeed have to contend with Parishoners wearing sex shoes.
A limerick for you
Friend of mine tells of this chap she dated
Whos bum play need could not be sated
She’d spend hours, days, weeks
Hard at work ‘twixt his cheeks
Soiled the bed when he ejaculated
Now there’s a man who knows what he likes, and he likes what he knows.
There once was a Scotsman called Warren
Who kept treasures galore ‘neath his sporran
How the ladies would wilt
If he lifted his kilt
But he much preferred boys, tanned and foreign
Heavens…look at those
A rude one about a woman and her need for a particularly large penis.
A cavernous lass, quite pedantic
who insisted on cocks most gigantic
No nine inchers for her
(unless girth) she don’t care
Only upwards of twelve get her frantic
Oh such sadness…
Lets explore the sadness of life through the joy of limericks
A young lad I knew as a senior
he got cancer, I think ’twas leukaemia
the treatment it failed
he got thinner and paled
and then died and his wife got bulimia
My dad was a drunk and a cheat
every weekend my mother he beat
took her cash to do drugs
bringing home sluts and thugs
’till we all ended up on the street
First time we met how I tried
not to love, but I made her my bride
then the marriage it failed
when her sister I nailed
Took her life, overdose, suicide
My dog, my best friend always true
dedicated to me through and through
Drunk, I left the door wide
and she ran straight outside
got ran over and died now I’m blue
A chap that I know who loves choir
had to quit giving up his desire
he could not harmonise
when he lost both his eyes
and his tongue when he fell in a fire
I think I’ll stop there, I’m not sure that I’m trying hard enough to make them sad. Or maybe I should blame the limerick, either way I hope it’s not too inappropriate and I think it goes to show that even the most serious of subjects find some lightness in a limerick.
So a businessman based up in Libya
from his trip brought home crabs and chlymidia
and a vase from Phuket
from a trans chap he met
and a rash from this lass from Namibia
It’s Monday where I am. Let us start the week with a special bit of meaty madness…
A butcher, too fond of his meat
Rubbed himself with pigs ears and cows feet
Would spend weekend a quiver
As he fondled lambs liver
Would explode at the sight of meats sweet
I know I should be better than this.
Once a dirty scout master from from Kent
Spent weekends round young boys in a tent
Now he’s locked up in jail
With no prospects of bail
Passed around cells at night, sphincter spent
Just pop her into the recovery position, she’ll be reet
An epileptic lass called Theresa
During sex would squirt high like a geyser
If pleased ever so right
Eyes rolled back in delight
And then squeal and go into a seizure
Aah the things we deny ourselves…
Once a lady with grace, class and poise
Had a craving for both girls and boys
She would keep it well hidden
What she thought was forbidden
And so got through so many sex toys
Dirty, dirty girl
A vegan lass who had forgotten
About the things that she’d placed in her bottom
From a night of abandon
With some vegetables, random
‘Till they dripped from her sphincter, quite rotten
SHandmaid’s tale
Life lessons, free. No need to thank me.
Once a chap who was wooing a lass
Treat her fine, with respect and such class
But he failed in his quest
She liked perverts the best
Who would crave her big boobs and fine ass
Been ages…
Once a buxom lass, claimed her lord died
For her sins and so fellows denied
Poor blue balls of her suitors
As they craved her large hooters
None succeeeded though many have tried
Real heartfelt stuff…
Oh sweet love, you consume me, devine
I am yours and I know you are mine
Im obsessed, that’s for sure
With your love,sweet and pure
And the fact that you love 69
Well it is Wednesday after all.
A betrayed french wife, Mademoiselle Eiffel
Went to jail, for she used Monsieur’s Rifle
Caught his with her next door
Eating puddings galore
Found him balls deep in her Sunday trifle
For what she was about to receive…such great bounty indeed!
Pyromaniac nympho called Linda
Took a lad home that she met on Tinder
Took some candles to bed
How he screamed as he fled
Burnt the poor fellows cock to a cinder