Daily Limerick
Archives: April 2000

Contains Mature (and immature) Content;If You’re a Minor, Go Away!


NOTE: DL has not yet taken the time to put "anchors" into the archives. Translation: You're gonna have to scroll all the way through the long-ass documents (use your "find" commands, squatlicks)!


Here’s a taste of the DAILY LIMERICK free e-mail service—so open wide! If it tickles your taste buds, we’re firin’ up the limerick oven every day and we’ll send you one—all you have to do is reply to this e-mail and say, “Yes, sign me up as a DAILY LIMERICK subscriber!” (and tell us if we should hold the lettuce). If limericks leave a bad taste in your mouth and you DON’T want to join the elite crew of DAILY LIMERICK subscribers, don’t worry—all you have to do is NOTHING! That’s right, unless you specifically ASK to be put on the list, you won’t be! BUT PLEASE NOTE—I may accidentally send you this offer more than once, but that’s only because you screwed up. As I said, you have to ask for it!


What’s the hottest sensation that’s sweepin’ the nation and causin’ elation and even gyration? Well, THAT’S probably “Who Wants to Be A Millionaire” or some such dreck, but the DAILY LIMERICK is sweepin’ a relatively small, demented demographic of the nation! The DAILY LIMERICK—think of it as Tae Bo for the loins!



I’m setting new D. Limerick rules

no more of sex, bush, breasts and tools!

All limericks created

will now be G-rated—

If you believe that: April Fools!


A woman whose dog choked on quiche

sought someone to fill her pet’s niche.

For her legs men would kill

so the roll she did fill

with a man who gladly wore a leash.


This fellow, George W. Bush

might in the end lose in the push

for president Gore

(either way, it’s a bore)

next Prez will give less jokes ’bout tush.


A fellow I knew from Miami

did lust for a girlie named Tammy.

She wanted him, too

but he never knew

so he stayed home and slammed the hammy.


There was a young woman from Prague

each morning she’d go for a jog.

And all local thugs

would watch bouncin’ jugs

so ample they’d cause them a log.


A boy, first raised by both his grandmas

was then raised by Phi Beta Gammas

Slumber parties were frequent

he became a delinquent

and gained a fetish for pajamas.


There once was a fellow named Mack

who liked a woman who “got back.”

Saw Ally McBeal

and then he did squeal:

“My God that damn woman got jack!”


There were these two homos from Wales

who’d meet in between boffing males.

They’d speak of sex glories—

exchange gay ol’ stories

and call it enjoying cock tales.


That fabled thin man named Jack Sprat

during sex with often say “drat!”

For sometimes his wife’s mound

could not be quickly found

underneath all her rollings of fat.


A fellow fell into love deep

with a woman named Lil’ Bo Peep.

Now Ms. Peep was coquetish

he played ’long with her fetish—

but he balked at including her sheep.


A baker with dubious goals

made phallus shapes into his rolls.

That widened girls’ eyes

and then for the guys

he baked these life-like donut holes.


A cheerleader and a dream weaver

had her eyes on a wide receiver.

From sidelines she’d flirt

(nothing ’neath her skirt)

and won him with glimpses of beaver.


Bad premature ejaculation

brought our friend Jim emasculation.

Once with a hot dame

so early he came

his spooge shot in the Persian nation.


A fellow named Billy DuBose

had a giant penis-shaped nose.

After a big party

his schnoz would smell hearty

(and you can bet not like a rose)!


A Catholic girl, light in the head

’round Easter time turned her priest red—

lifted her dress high

her defense reply:

“FLASH Wednesday’s what I thought you said!”


Now those who to work wear high tops

shorts, jerseys and other such props—

yes those who play sports

and make crime reports—

should be the next subject of COPS.


A guy named Martin Espinoza

met a chick named Rose Mariposa.

She hiked up her skirt

and said with a flirt,

“Help yourself to the Ponda-Rose-A!”


Folks act like old works aren’t risque—

unlike all the “filth” of today.

The butcher? The Baker?


Three men in a tub’s rather gay!


There once was a lady named Ruby

who smoked up a rather large doobie.

She then craved a snack

though her wallet had jack

so she bribed a store clerk with her boobie.


A gay man named Quentin J. Kramer

used hoops of fire as lion tamer.

One cat, badly burned

had Q’s favor earned

’cause then he could name it “The Flamer.”


A miniature fellow named Lair

camped out on a chick . . . well, down there.

She lathered her thing

and boldly did sing,

“Wash that man right out of my hair.”


A man smuggling drugs in his jeans

used coffee to keep the scent clean.

A slut girl, top notch

did rub the man’s crotch—

you could say he creamed his beans.


I man thought he’d stay home and spank it

but his drinking elbow—he did crank it.

So went out on the town

but his standards went down

and the next morn had pig in a blanket.


A man who liked sex free and risky

met a dame at a bar who was frisky

their inhibitions sank

the more that they drank

but his dick’s plans were foiled by the whiskey.


A dame named Amelia T. Glazer

tried shaving her cooch with a razor.

But it was so scary

overgrown and hairy

what she could’ve used was laser.


A man by the last name of Moon

puts wonton wraps on his girl’s poon.

When he does eat her out

he’ll take time out to shout

“How I cherish my tuna rangoon!”


Now that Anjelina Jolie

has new take on sibling rivalry

Tempting fruit of another?

Well, she joins with her brother

picking fruits from their own family tree.


A horny Hindu named Ofari

would pick up chicks in his Ferrari

and try to see muff

so he’d drive fast enough

that over their heads went the sari.


Mikey went to his best ol’ pal’s wedding

so for his new life he’d be abetting—

he saw a fine bride’s maid

and desired to get laid

so his priorities turned to bedding.


A sunbathing graphic designer

gave a male onlooker a steiner.

He helped her with her lotion

and that worked like a potion—

soon he mounted her in her recliner.


Ah, yes! April showers bring May deflowers... or something like that. Come in out of the rain and warm up to a toasty limerick in your e-mail box! Tell a friend! Tell them to tell two friends! And they’ll tell two friends, and they’ll tell two friends... And soon, a midget will tell you, “Gee, your hair smells terrific!” Think about that one for a bit.


In July of 1999, one month before the All Limerick Slam at the 1999 National Poetry Slam festivities, I was bitten by a radioactive Leprechaun and the Daily Limerick was born. Suddenly, my path in life became clear. I was born to be a crusader for uncensored truth, justice and Limerick! Actually, I wanted to get an AUDIENCE for the Limerick Slam I’d be hosting, but I was so amazed at the lack of enthusiasm for the project that I thought I’d send a Daily Limerick indefinitely! Plus, I won the Limerick Slam accidentally and wanted to give something back to the Limerick community! (Not too much, as there was no prize in it for me!) I’m committed to at least a year of the limericks—perhaps for the rest of my life, if we have enough subscribers!

By the way, I guarantee QUANTITY in limericks—one a day. I do not guarantee QUALITY limericks.


If you want to be on John Biederman’s e-list for comedy, sketch and/or poetic performances (in Chicago, LA or elsewhere), let me know!


©1999, 2000 John Henry Biederman. All Rights Reserved.


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