The other day a conversation with a female friend turned into a roundabout discussion that began with fruit, took a rapid detour to testicles, and ended with dirty limericks. I can’t name the friend without potentially embarrassing the innocent man whose mangoes we were discussing, but the guilty party knows who she is. I’m pretty sure I can still hear her giggling.
Anyway, I started to wonder why limericks lend themselves so admirably to off-colour content. Maybe it’s something about the rhyme structure. You just never see an obscene sonnet or haiku. (Though if you know any, feel free to enlighten me.)
Most of the limericks I know are so vile I only recite them in the wee hours of the morning at a keg party, after I’ve set my glass aside and begun to drink directly from the pitcher for the sake of efficiency. The last time that happened was many years ago, and it’s unlikely to happen again anytime soon.
But I still consider it one of my finer achievements to make a dozen inebriated guys gag simultaneously and flee the area. Abandoning the keg, no less. That was some limerick. Needless to say, I won’t be including it in this post. I can’t afford to lose readers.
I have no idea why I retain dirty limericks on the tip of my brain for instant retrieval when I can’t remember useful information like my sister’s not-so-new-anymore phone number. And maybe I should be concerned that I can recite three limericks about testicles without a moment’s thought.
Here are the ones that sprang immediately to mind:
There was a young man from Boston
Who drove around in an Austin.
There was room for his ass
And a gallon of gas,
But his balls hung out and he lost ‘em.
Or how about this one:
There was a young man from Devizes
Whose balls were of two different sizes.
One was so small
It was no ball at all,
But the other one won several prizes.
There was a young man from Madras
Whose balls were made out of brass.
He’d bang them together
To play stormy weather,
And lightning shot out of his ass.
Frankly, that last one never made much sense to me since I happen to know brass won’t create a spark no matter how much you bang it together, but whatever. It makes a good rhyme.
Maybe dirty limericks are so popular because they’re easy to create (and let’s face it, a lot of people have dirty minds). Since I happen to believe there’s always room for more bad poetry in the world, here’s my attempt:
There once was a woman from Cowtown
Whose crudity made strong men bow down.
Though they tried to harass her,
They couldn’t surpass her.
The Queen of Vulgarity’s now crown’d.
Anybody else have dirty limericks lurking top-of-mind? Or, more shockingly, clean limericks? Do share.
Or feel free to get creative and make up one of your own. I dare you.