Daily Limerick
Archives: July 2001

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 sample of the Daily Limerick FREE e-mail newsletter! (Now in it’s third year of “service”!)

NOTE: A limerick is a humorous poem that is generally of a sexual nature. If you are offended by such a thing, please delete this message immediately and realize YOU WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THIS LIST UNLESS YOU SPECIFICALLY ASK TO BE—THIS IS MERELY A SAMPLE!

You’ll find a sample limerick below as well as “Slappin’ and Yappin’,” our commentary section, of sorts, on our nutty, copiously-corporate-sponsored world! There’s also our new “Letters to the Idiot” section! That’s right, what began as simply a limerick service is now a full-blown... er, at least a lukewarm attempt at an e-newsletter!

So you’ve spotted that guy or gal who’s causing a dance in your pants—but what, oh what can you possibly say to pick him or her up? “You’ve got more legs than a bucket of chicken” is nice, but it takes a special kind of person to appreciate it, mainly people who don’t know English too well. Perhaps you should throw out a LIMERICK! For limericks truly soothe the soul and part the thighs. If that doesn’t work, some quotes from “Slappin’ and Yappin’” will surely break the ice.

Well, perhaps not. But in any event you can simply reply to this e-mail and get a free limerick (and “Slappin’ and Yappin’”—every day! No, you haven’t died and went to heaven! And, no, you haven’t died and went to hell either!

Should you not desire a succulent limerick and tender dose of Slappin’ and Yappin’ delivered to your e-mail box rain or shine (occasionally late, but much more reliable than the Post Office, although that’s not saying much) you can simply DO NOTHING. That’s right—unless you reply and simply ask for it, you won’t receive more! (Although the DAILY LIMERICK is organized a bit like the Post Office, so you may accidentally receive more than one of these sample queries.)

Sign-up today! Be the first on your block to have the DAILY LIMERICK!



IS AT 11 DAYS...


Daily Limerick 7/1/2001:

An ugly boy who couldn’t dance

uncharming, no accent from France.

Then why did the chickies

besiege him with quickies?

(He needed three legs for his pants.)



I think cable networks need a new system for describing pay-per-view porn.

The other night, my wife went out with friends and, well, of course, I rented some naughty pay-per-view. (A lot of guys would have chick over in such a case, but I guess that’s one of the benefits to marrying a nerd.)

Anyway, I ordered a porn and was... Well, only mildly satisfied.

I don’t mean to sound like an erotic racist, but most of the scenes featured a large black man.

Now, let’s face it. Porn is not primarily couples flicks or marital aids... It’s whack-ff ammunition, pure and simple. It’s the original virtual reality. It’s much like one of those old “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, where YOU become the hero. And it throws a monkey wrench in the process of my own virtual reality because, well, I’m not a large black man. (For the same reason, I’ve never understood the obsession in porn with men who are hung like elephants because you gotta figure the average guy has a monkey wrench thrown in his virtual reality by that.)

So instead of those minute descriptions like: “Sexually charged aliens invade planet Earth!” or “A union of pizza delivery boys becomes a male escort service” (considering nobody even understands why porn BOTHERS with the plots), why not: “Lot of large, unreal breast in this one!” or “If you like Asian women, you’ll see a lot of them banged here!” or “If you’re a large black man, this is the viritual reality for you!”

It makes the pay-per-view thing a risky proposition.



>    I'll  be on vacation when the 2nd anniversary rolls around, so let me congratulate you  prematurely on some entertaining and witty verse.  I admire that you have  the perseverance to do this each day, and I do sometimes have to laugh out loud  when I'm reading the limericks.   Wish I  could help with your Chicago job thing, but the only person I even know in  Chicago runs a design studio.  Good Luck.   KK


>Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to  think of it again. -Goethe

Whew! I was reading the signature of the above and saw “K...” then another “K...” and I was thinking I was somehow reaching the wrong crowd but... There was no other K!

Anyhow, the well-wishing is already coming in for the grand second anniversary of the Daily Limerick! I wonder what Helmut Kohl’s sending me...



IS AT 10 DAYS...


Daily Limerick 7/2/2001:

There was a hung fellow named Charlie

and women found his Willie gnarley.

[They’d] put beave, mouth or hand

on his large kick-stand

and ride that damn thing like a Harley!



I have an idea for a much-needed campaign of Public Service Announcements.

Of course, I’m working on the logic that PSAs actually WORK, which is quite a stretch. I remember in the ’80s, upon my first failed attempt at college, hearing all too often the cry, “Pack up the bong--that ‘Say No to Drugs’ commercial is on!” Also, when you think about it, that commercial with the egg (your brain) and the frying pan (drugs)--This is your brain on drugs-- is actually saying GOOD things about drugs because, well, what good is a raw egg? If you cook it up, you get a tasty, useful treat.

Anyway, in the wake of word coming out that some of Archie Bunker’s words have been censored (yup, P.C. is dead according to MTV and/or VH-1 but standards are rougher today than in the ’70s), and all this “Pearl Harbor” trash (where military barracks in the ’40s curiously have nobody smoking and the word “Jap” is curiously rare)...

Here’s my idea for a multi-million dollar PSA campaign, to be splatered on buses and TV commercials and on the radio...

“Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but Words will NEVER hurt me.”

It’s amazing how many people need that drilled into their head these days.






IS AT 9-7 DAYS...


Daily Limerick 7/3/2001:

I man took a hooker to poop on

and afterward, pour some hot soup on.

Told his plans and she blurted

“Sorry, that’s too perverted”

and he then claimed that he had a coupon.


Daily Limerick 7/4/2001:

If kissing sends up to the sky

fireworks (as old shows do imply).

Adds more “oomph” to this day

for a really good lay

then should be like the Fourth of July!


Daily Limerick 7/5/2001:

A man in the wilds of Australia

sees folks rarely, so he would hail ya’.

But if you meet this wonder

don’t commit the Big Blunder

(for if you just bend over, he’ll nail ya’).


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 7/3-7/5/2001

Yep. It’s a holiday comin’ up here, so you’re gettin’ a couple days worth at once.

So the National Organization for Women released a study of how women are portrayed on television.

(By the way, I consider myself largely a NOW supporter, although their First Amendment Phobia concerning pornography is certainly frightening.)

And NOW concluded that the women portrayed in television shows “bear no resemblance to real women.”

So, how is this a women’s issue? PEOPLE in television programs “bear no resemblance to real people.” REALITY TV “bears no resemblance to real reality.”

Real people don’t laugh uproariously every 15 seconds unless the rapidly dying art of HUMOR is somehow at play.

Happy Fourth of July! And keep those fireworks away from your genitals.





Daily Limerick 7/6/2001:

Wanda threw a party of slumber.

One friend brought along a cucumber.

One girl, a sex freak

showed oral technique

(Wanda’s spying brother did lumber).



Hope you all had a good Fourth.

The neighborhood I’m working in is awful. I leave to go home or to lunch, I have to watch out for THEM. I have to take strange routes sometimes, or sprint rather rudely by. THEY are all around.

Those kids selling the overpriced M&Ms.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s for a good cause. Helping pay for a new stage for the school theater, support a school baseball team, etc. But they’re nuts. They’re the pushiest bastards I’ve ever encountered. They follow you, like beggars in New York, for blocks if they must.

Good cause and all, sure. And I guess it teaches kids some lessons, helps them learn some real-life skills.

But I can’t shake the feeling that we’re training future used car salesmen and telemarketers. Indulge him today, and he’ll be calling during dinner and your favorite show.

I don’t know. You’re on your own with the M&Ms thing. Funny thing is, I’d probably buy some if they were more laid-back about it.



As you may recall, I wished you:

>>Happy Fourth of July! And keep those fireworks away from your genitals.

To which Chippy replies:

>Yes, mom!

I think most moms may warn about fireworks. But, if your mom feels the need to warn you specifically about keeping them away from your genitals...

Well. You’ve got something funny going on.





Daily Limerick 7/7/2001:

A Native American, Noel

had bangin’ mass dames as his goal.

He got most his kicks

from New-Agey chicks

finding “chi” in his totem pole.



If something that creeps you out gives you “The Willies,” what gives you “The Wallies”? Or the “Corneliuses”?





Daily Limerick 7/8/2001:

At Jerry, all lady lambs scoff.

And try as he may, he can’t boff

any pretty lambs

so, dreaming of rams

he spends countless hours bleating off.



On the day before starting a job once again (finally) in writing and editing again, I’d like to thank a certain type of person.

I’d like to thank those people here in Chicago who, upon telling them my plight, want to be helpful SOOO bad. And they say, “Have you tried the Sun-Times and Tribune?”

What a brilliant insight these people offer! As a professional editor/writer/journalist moving back to Chicago, it would never occur to me to send resumes and writing clips to multiple editors, assistant editors, etc. at the two major dailies in town.

Thanks for thinkin’ outside the box for me!





Daily Limerick 7/9/2001:

The mother of Wee Willie Tucker

and his friend Chuck, would wink and pucker.

The boys all found Charlie

quite kick-ass and gnarly

when he became a Mother Fucker.



What, really, is a “hole”?

Air, right? A hole is really nothing, despite the fact that it’s identified by the something it is surrouded by. The absence of material by a donut is a donut hole. The absence of material in a road is a “road hole,” or, more commonly, a pot hole. Which would also be a hole in your pot, if you’re so inclined, although I’ve never heard of such a thing.

But, in general, we might be right next to a donut hole and never know it. Perhaps somebody ate the donut, and the air around the donut traveled SOMEWHERE and it happened to be by you. But, molecularly speaking, you can say that you’re surrounded by donut holes, as we’re really surrounded by holes anyway.

And what is an asshole but another hole?

Therefore, you can also say that we’re surrounded by assholes.



>I see that you are so fervorous to begin a new job that you forgot to

>include a limerick today. Godspeed, you black emperor! And, seriously, best

>wishes and good luck in your new job.

Actually, that was my little crack at existentialism. Or surrealism. Or something. The Daily Limerick with no Limerick. Kinda like the “Sound of One Hand Clapping.”

I included the “Lost Limerick” above. Although I should stow it away and someday it’ll be in the Smithsonian(’s garbage dumpster).





Daily Limerick 7/10/2001:

There once was a man named McGee

whose Johnson hung down to his knee.

He cloned his hoo-hoo

and it was large, too

(the leaf don’t far fall from his tree).



Continuing on a periodic theme about “Events Impossible to Joke About”:

I just read today that they’re planning a mall around the Taj Mahal. Fast food places, stores, etc.

Well, you know, it makes me wonder...


The thing that gets me is...


It’s getting more and more like...

See. It just doesn’t work. The line between joke and reality (and comedy and tragedy) has more than blurred at this point.

It’s no wonder MAD Magazine had to resort to advertising after nearly 50 years without it. Life is quickly becoming a MAD Magazine feature from a couple decades ago. How do you parody a world that’s becoming a parody?



IS AT 1 DAY...


Daily Limerick 7/11/2001:

A dirty filmmaker named Pinchter

met a co-ed and “Colonel Klink’d” her.

She was once quite shy

now she’ll often cry

as half the free world’s seen her sphincter.



Here’s my recipe for a Poor Man’s Shamrock Shake:

Brush your teeth. Drink milk.



>    Hi,  John, and Happy Second...   Have  you thought of the Sun-Times and the Tribune?...Oh, wait, that's not what I  wanted to say...it was actually, Have you thought about taking Limericks >from  subscribers (or other unknown entities)?  I know sometimes the full-time  job thing can really cut into a person's life and avocations...not that I have  any Limericks to offer, but just in case I should think up  one.............   Kevin  Kleine  


>Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to  think of it again. -Goethe

Actually, it doesn’t take a lot of time for me to write a limerick, at this point. I usually do it as I’m getting ready to go in the morning. Slappin’ and Yappin’ sometimes takes more time, but sometimes, as you’ve probably noticed, I slack a little on that “column,” depending on how busy I am otherwise.

But I’m not opposed to taking limericks.

But I agree that the full-time job thing kinda sucks. Really gets in the way of life.

I am thinking of new ideas to celebrate this milestone of 2 years. I’ll keep you informed.

But send your limericks if you like. And I’m hoping I can get some advertisers for this thing once the primitive Web site is actually up, as I’ve heard of college kids putting up dirty joke Web sites and making $500 a month or more.


It’s the Daily Limerick’s 2nd Birthday, so I’m sending this one out to everybody on my e-lists! (Don’t worry, you still HAVE TO REQUEST TO BE PUT ON THE REGULAR SUBSCRIPTION LISTS, due to the nature of the content, but I thought I’d throw out a sample to people who STILL haven’t signed on--it’s FREE, you know.) Yup, what began as a silly little exercise in filthy verse has now made it TWO WHOLE YEARS, sending a limerick a day, now including “newspaper columnist gone wrong” commentary in “Slappin’ and Yappin’” and also “Letters to the Idiot.” Take a new look if you’re not on the list, please excuse any “double e-mailing” I may have done and, hey, it’s so much more than just a limerick today! Well, perhaps not SO much more, but much more. Well, okay... More.

We’re planning big changes ahead, although I’m not sure what they’ll be. Perhaps small changes. Perhaps more “current events” limericks, instead of the traditional filth--occasionally. And the Web site will be coming soon, despite my dragging my heels on it.

Enjoy! Or at least have a pleasant puke!


Daily Limerick 7/12/2001:

Happy Birthday to Daily Limerick!

It started as just a dumb gimm(r)ick.

But verse masturbation

is now a sensation--

delightful, for both her and him-rick.



It’s our second birthday. They said it couldn’t be done. Or perhaps that it SHOULDN’T be done. But it has been done. And it will continue to be done. (By the way, as fate would have it, the Daily Limerick’s birthday is the same as Milton Berle’s, and Bill Cosby’s. It’s also the anniversarry of Disco Demolition (1979). Oh, and Kristi Yamaguchi’s birthday. And the anniversary of the last day of my MAD Magazine internship in 1996. And probably other things. But it should be, from now on, a national day of limerick.

I could really slack off and just ignore Slappin’ and Yappin’ altogether, I suppose, being a DL birthday and all. But...

Well, I will urge you all to get in on the newest trend, of getting arrested in Puerto Rico by protesting bombings. Everybody’s doing it now, it seems. Need a little good PR? Go get arrested in PR! And after that, complain about the shoddy conditions in prison (as opposed to all those luxury prisons’ conditions).

Getting arrested isn’t what it used to be. At least not for PR-seeking politicians and celebrities. Or maybe it’s always been that way.



The Limerick-lovin’ Squirrel checks in with strange B-day greetings:

>There once was a man named Vagalonic!

>He liked to get anal colonics!

>He jumped in the air,

>and burnt off his hair,

>and, um, I think you should stick to the limericks, thanks. :)

I originally thought about trying to fix that but... It’d be a lot of work. Although, perhaps I should start a limerick editing service. I’m sure there’s a huge market for that.


Daily Limerick 7/13/2001:

Hidden beneath a tight-knit sweater

I guess breast implants may look better

but when they’re unfurled

let loose in the world

they look cheesier than sharp cheddar.



A couple recent signs of hope in the world:

Disney Quest is going out of business in downtown Chicago. It’s probably not doing all that bad (just not good enough for the executives golfing and banging interns all day) but, still. It also says good things for Chicago, considering those of us here didn’t go gung ho for the mouse which spouts “family values” out of one side of the mouth and the closest one can get to “corporate Nazism” out of the other.

Also, some couple in New Jersey, who won some H&R Block prize game, didn’t come forward at first because they thought it was a scam.

Could we be getting more intelligent as a society? Perhaps. But “Yes, Dear” was still renewed for another run...


Daily Limerick 7/14/2001:

There was a fine girlie named Bubbles

whose body caused all sorts of troubles.

It wasn’t her sass

or her legs and ass

but her forty-four sized D Doubles.


Daily Limerick 7/15/2001:

A guy who was stalking young Rosy

hid ’neath her bed with his palm rosy

to view flesh for slappies

she wore sandals strappy

so he jizzed all over her toe-sy.


Daily Limerick 7/16/2001:

A horse-faced girl with ugly stubble

had a fine ass built like a bubble.

It seemed all too clear

porn’d be her career

(but only as a bootie double).


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 7/14-7/16/2001

So did you read or hear about this deal they’re workin’ on now, where they can fertilize an egg without sperm (so far only in mice)?

This is a fabulous innovation in one way because it’ll entail lesbian couple to have babies together, if all works out.

But, guys, we’re on the way out.

Women don’t REALLY like us. I’ve suspected it for some time. I’m not saying that all women are lesbians. Some are perhaps indifferent. Some have the lesbian thing in them, and with enough crap from men and the right political persuasion, may become lesbians. Some may experiment.

But, as I began to notice in grade school, I think women really only deal with men because they have the biological urge to have children.

At a tender age, I noticed that the man had to ask the woman out. The man tried to kiss the woman. As I got older and learned about a thing called sex, it occured to me that although the man has no problem getting off, and the woman needs a man to work pretty hard to please her, the man is the one doing the chasing. Logically, women should be chasing us around, with us saying, “No, I’ve got a headache!” while we’re thinking, “Oh, easy for YOU to say. You don’t have to hold back and think of baseball statistics or perhaps picture Rosie O’Donnell naked.”

If a naked woman runs down the street, it makes every guy’s day to see it. A naked man runs down the street and there are blood-curdling screams. The authorities are notified.

Most women also like the lights out during sex. They don’t want to see us naked. As I said, they stomach us only because of a powerful urge brought on by nature.

And now they’re doing away with us altogether. Just wait and see.

Oh, we get the slack for “keepin’ the woman down.” But perhaps it was out of fear. Perhaps our forefathers somehow KNEW that, one day, women would just do away with us because they really don’t like us.

Paranoid ramblings of a puberty-laden 12-year-old? Probably. But it does all fit together so nicely...


LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 7/14-7/16/2001

Blah >Hi, John...

>Today's also my supervisor's birthday.  She's an editor, too...


>Here's a current events Limerick in honor or your second year:


>In a restaurant seat soft and cush

>Young Jenna sat down on her tush,

>Popped open a can

>which she drained like a man,

>Heading straight for the mountains of Busch.


>Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to think of it

>again. -Goethe

So limericks are one thing he’s not so hot at. But still, I’m damn proud to have Goethe on the Daily Limerick list. And I was wondering if he was still alive.

Daily Limerick... The e-newsletter of choice for GOETHE!


Daily Limerick 7/17/2001:

’Pon a farm, on a summer day hazy

came a trav’lin’ salesman (car went lazy).

Slept with the farmer’s daughters

but was warned that he oughter

heed his word to please not eat his Daisy.



So, a Backstreet Boy went into rehab.

It’s starting...

Get ready for the Great Downhill Slide for the Boys, which will briefly be covered by the media.





Daily Limerick 7/18/2001:

A gymnast lapsed into daydream

while doin’ her thing on the beam

her legs hit a tangle,

she fell at an angle

and gave herself a balance-d ream.



Now it sees the new rage among the Yuppie set is Post Partum Depression. I think I’d heard the term once or twice in the past, but now, everywhere you look, they’re jumping off bridges and in front of trains. It’s not yet as hot as the Beanie Baby craze once was, but it’s currently running neck-and-neck with buying your kids tickets to the (now fading) Backstreet Boys.

Now, despite what you read from me every day, I’m, at heart, a sensitive guy. I’m just constantly analyzing our politically correct, copiously corporate sponsored world, with it’s dentist-office-smelling workplaces and its educational, non-confrontational cartoons, and our healthy, non-fat, herbal remedy lifestyles...

I just don’t think this hot new trend has caught on in, oh, say Ethiopia or anything. And you gotta wonder why that is.

While I generally mostly ignore stories of human tragedy (what’s the point in dwelling in it), and I avoid the broadcast Tragedy Extravaganzas (TV news), most stories of these tragic post partum depressions leave me shaking my head and, occasionally, even a tad misty.

Except, of course, those that involve wowen mercilessly, methodically, coldly and calculatingly murdering their children.

Oh, it’s not accurate to say I feel NO mercy for these... Er, subsets of human beings. I felt a wee bit sorry for even Jeffrey Dahmer, wondering what I’d do if I were afflicted with such a horrible sexual drive. But I get over it in a nanosecond or two.

Post Partum Depression, Psychosis, Schizophreniz, Lou Gehrig’s Disease--I don’t CARE what your problem is. You do those things, you’ve demonstrated that you have no place in society, EVER. Oh, we’re gonna be all touchy-feely and cure this terrible depressions and... NOPE. You show that you have it in you to go a’-murderin’, whether it’s partly because of alcoholism or obsessive compulsive disorder, you’re outta here. I don’t care WHAT let the monster out, you’ve just proven you have it inside. You blew it. We don’t ask much of you in society. Even if you’re homeless and drug addicted, a shelter or something will feed you. But we’re a little picky when it comes to dragging your children, one-by-one, into a bathtub and drowning them to death.

And here’s what I don’t get: DEPRESSION causing blood-thirsty madness. Now I’ve been depressed before. Not clinically, I suppose. But I thought that when you’re depressed, you stare at the floor. Watch infomercials. If you kill ANYBODY, you may kill yourself, I suppose but...

No, perhaps we should just call it, in these cases, Post Partum Nutrod Out of Your Mind Look You Up and Throw Away the Key Disorder. Or just drop the “Post Partum” part.


Daily Limerick 7/19/2001:

A young man was left broken hearted

when his longtime lady had parted.

Rememb’ring her wiggle

could not even giggle

(at least ’til the first time he farted).



I often wonder about the magic behind those ripped up, discarded and crusty porn magazines you find.

Well, you don’t find them a lot. In fact, I only found them when I was around the puberty stage in life. In fact, others I’ve spoken to have only found them during their puberty stages as well...

That’s what you call MAGIC.

It’s like there’s a porn fairy or something. You’re too young to buy it (well, I rented porn videos in junior high, but that’s another story), you can’t figure out where your dad’s hiding his... In other words, just when you need it most, it’s given to you. Just about.

I’ve done my part in the past to give a little something back to the pubescent community. I once left some old porn mags I was sick of under a city bridge.

I think the homeless found it, though. That would be my guess. Unless the MAGIC swept it away into the hands of eager, horny, pimpled boys.

But I still think I did a good deed if the homeless happened upon it, in any event. Maybe, if I ever get rich, that’ll be the charity I start. “Porn for the Homeless.” C’mon, I’ve had troubles gettin’ laid in the past, we all have, but bein’ homeless has gotta hurt your chances at gettin’ some.



In reply to yesterday’s tangent/manifesto on Post-Partum Depression, the hot new Yuppie craze, bushy tail (can you tell I’m running out of terms for “squirrel”:

>Gee, and all this time I thought it was Post Pardon Depression, as in

>"Pardon me for drowning my red-faced infant in the bathtub."



No, but I think the Rich’s and Clinton are suffering from Post Pardon depression. Although I think Clinton has a much better way of dealing with the stress than drowning children. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.


Daily Limerick 7/20/2001:

A girl whose rear end was a cutie

found men fighting for its fine beauty.

Two shared for a bit

then one threw a fit

and caused Mutiny on the Booty.



Thursday night is the night I head out to do this Post-Modern Vaudeville kinda show I appear regularly in. It’s not every single Thursday, but most. The place is called BONE DADDY.

Sometimes I order the barbecue they serve there. They have various types. Once I ordered the MEMPHIS DRY RUB.

When I told a friend I got a MEMPHIS DRY RUB at the BONE DADDY, he thought it sounded dirty.

I like that.

So I tell everybody I can how I had a MEMPHIS DRY RUB at the BONE DADDY.

Delightful fun.


Daily Limerick 7/21/2001:

One day I went out for a malted

but soon my amusement was halted

beneath the blue sky

two peanuts walked by

and one of the nuts was a-salted.


Daily Limerick 7/22/2001:

A baby boy cookie named Long

one day found that things had gone wrong.

Tears rolled down his eye

but why did he cry?--

His mom was a way-fer so long.


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 7/21-7/22/2001

You’ll notice that today’s limerick is G-rated.

The week before last, during my show, it just so happened that a bunch of young children were in the audience. Knowing that kids will shatter like glass upon hearing an off-color word, things had to be toned down.

It’s a brilliant move to bring young children to a show with “vaudeville” in the title.

So, I wrote some non-dirty limericks on the spot. You’ll see another soon.

By the way, have a Happy Hemingway’s Birthday today. But, in celebrating, don’t do anything he wouldn’t do. Actually, don’t do a few things he WOULD do, either.


Daily Limerick 7/23/2001:

A girl with breasts sized like some cabbage

was fired from her job checking baggage.

To soften her loss

her horny ol‘ boss

gave her one good, hard severance package.



The Chicago Sun-Times’ “Weekend Plus” section this week had a cover with a picture of Tim McGraw, headlined “Bad Boy of Country Music.”

In ten years, I don’t know how the hell we’re going to communicate. We’re rapidly running out of terms that mean anything anymore.



In response to my well-wishing for a certain celebrity birthday, Milton Squirrel again checks in with:

>Hemingway's birthday, huh? Excellent! I think I'll become increasingly

>paranoid that I can no longer write, think the FBI is after me, then blow my

>head off with a silver-inlaid, double barrel shotgun to celebrate! Cheers!

He’s kidding. I think. Although this does shed light on the reasons why my “E-Mail Suicide Prevention E-Hotline” was a failure.


Daily Limerick 7/24/2001:

A chick wore the World’s Tightest Halter

but, oddly, no fellas could fault her.

She had such a rack

in every man’s slacks

he soon found the Rock of Gibraltar.



I realize that a position like this could cause some trouble, but, well, here it is:

When protesting a cause, you have to get disorderly in order to affect any kind of change.

I’ve thought about this in the past, but the whole idea came back to me after reading about the protests surrounding the G-8 meeting in Genoa, Italy. Overall, the National Leaders are decrying the actions of the “bad” protesters—surprise, surprise—but also scolding them for making the “legitimate” protesters look bad. Because, in a nutshell, the “legitimate” protesters are so easy to simply ignore.

I’m not advocating violence here necessarily but... Some kind of unrest. Even MLK had to get arrested (although it seems quite a bit more important to have occured then than it now seems with, say, the photo-op of getting arrested protesting the Vieques exercises).

I’ll admit. A part of me is just all jazzed that decent unrest is going on over politics (in this case, the whole “Globilizations/Sweatshot creation” issue). This is simply because... Well, I initially went to college in the ’80s, and have since divorced my generation for being a bunch of pathetic, lackadaisical couch potatoes.

I was similarly jazzed for the protests that were supposed to occure with the Democratic convention in L.A. while I was living there, but the only groups even approaching rowdy happened to be the animal activist nuts (causing me to wonder if maybe the ’80s weren’t so bad after all).

But now I’m just pumped. Smashing stuff in Seattle! Calling for tear gas in Genoa! Bring it on!

I’ve witnessed “legitimate” student protests at Northwestern in which the “hunger strikers” consumed juices to keep up their strength. College protests where the college itself provided furniture for the weary protestors. The 1996 Democratic National Convention in Chicago where a protest area was established and protest groups applied for protesting time slots.

Uh-huh. Sure. Polticians were all there, taking notes, barely able to contain their excitement over going back to Washington and making sure those protesters’ concerns were addressed.

No, sorry. You have to get a little out of control or they’ll never listen to you. You can protest the schools all you want about problems like bullying, but only some nutrods shooting up a school gets anybody to address the problem seriously.

It’s a sick commentary on society but I challenge you to dispute it.

Problem is, things are only looking to get worse. The G-8 is STILL mostly ignoring even violent protests.

Are the animal activist/terrorists far behind?


Daily Limerick 7/25/2001:

There was a young pop star named Britney

(some talent, but mostly a twit-ney)

she danced well, all the same

because most of her fame

came from implants she put in her tit-neys.



Reading some stories on the business pages lately, I discovered more about the motives (or lack thereof) behind political correctness.

The story was about “socially conscious” investing. There are mutual funds and clubs and blah blah blah in place for this purpose. It’s so investors can put their money only in companies that are “morally approvable.” For example, “green” investors will only invest in companies that have solid pro-environment policies. In reality, however, these investing strategies more often punish those companies with “immoral” policies—by not investing in them, regardless of how profitable they may be.

In perusing a list of “no-nos” for this genre of investing, guess what ranked near the top? Tobacco, naturally. And guess what didn’t rank very high at all? You guessed it! Or, maybe you didn’t—human rights abuses.

Good to see today’s guilty liberals have their priorities straight.


Daily Limerick 7/26/2001:

There once was a sweet-tooth-ed guy,

poured syrups on girl or on guy.

One day he did score

mixed menage-a-four

and each licked some hot apple bi.



It’s Alduous Huxley’s birthday!

It’s also Mick Jagger’s birthday!

And it’s also Blake Edwards’ birthday!

Let me see. Alduous Huxley, Mick Jagger and Blake Edwards walk into a bar. The bartender says...


How about: Blake Edwards, Alduous Huxley and Mick Jagger are traveling salesmen and their car breaks down on a lonely country road. They walk to the nearest farmer’s house and ask if they can spend the night in his barn. It turns out that the farmer has three voluptuous daughters and...

Eh... Not in the mood. But there’s a joke there! Maybe you can help, oh stalwart readers!

Ask not what Daily Limerick can do for you. Ask what YOU can do for Daily Limerick.


Daily Limerick 7/27/2001:

A pubescenet boy named Luigi

looked through a window and saw Gigi,

a hot babe, undressin’,

soon pants he was messin’

so much that it called for a squeegee.



More fun with names:

The founder of the Windy City Athletic Association, a gay sports club, is named Vince Butts.


Daily Limerick 7/28/2001:

Now Goldilocks one day did forage

the home of Three Bears out in Norridge.

Was caught in the shower

and gave up her flower

for one sticky helping of porridge.



The above limerick was an “improv limerick.” It’s a new thing, and it’s destined to be sweeping the nation! Or at least it’s proponents will be sweeping the nation--literally, in manual labor jobs.

During this near-weekly, sorta-Vaudevillian show I do, somebody got the brilliant idea of taking a suggestion from the audience to write a limerick around. The suggestion, in this case, was “porridge.”

When you think of it, that’s kinda odd. Normally, when you ask for suggestions from the audience, they yell out stuff like, “masturbation” or “anal sex” or perhaps “diarhea.”

There’s some character out there who, evidently, is a little too into porridge. Oh well, diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks, I suppose. I wish him luck in the search for his Goldilocks.

(By the way, Norridge is a Chicago suburb. I didn’t just make something up for the sake of rhyme.)


Daily Limerick 7/29/2001:

There once was a copper named Ernie

was injured on a lonely journey.

Went to the ER

saw a movie star

and mounted her up on his gurney.



That, by the way, was another improv limerick. The word I was given was “Ernie.”

And now on to one of the mysterious of the universe.

Porn, by and large, is a vehicle for male fantasy. Correct? Okay. So you mostly see average-looking guys with phenomenal looking women. Correct? Okay.

So what’s the deal with the gigantic cocks?

I think there’s some sort of conspiracy, involving whatever industry makes replacements for fast-forward buttons. If you know what I mean.

Last thing in hell I wanna see...


Daily Limerick 7/30/2001:

There once was a gay baseball slugger

who’d challenge the team to a chugger

and when all were drunk

he’d sneak from his bunk

at camp, and the drunkest he’d bugger.



Okay, here’s a news story illustrating why I’m no longer calling myself a liberal:

Diane Feinstein (Sen.-Calif.) has proposed a bill to limit all airline passengers to only two drinks. I mean, passengers would never think to drink more beforehand or anything. Or perhaps we should now card people for plane tickets at each and every place that sells alcohol.

Now this is not “regular” liberalism because, obviously, it’s more properly an example of “California Liberalism.” And I’m not saying here that I’ve become a conservative because, actually, for some time I’ve billed myself a liberal because I didn’t consider myself a conservative. Some may say that makes me more of a “moderate,” but with the recent trend of “moderate” meaning a liberal willing to, say, sell out the First Amendment in the name of political correctness or something, well...

I’m just not ANYTHING anymore, I guess.

By the way, did you know that there were 100 times more deaths of children in swimming pools last year than there were in school shootings? So, according to liberal/moderate logic, we should not be cracking down on stuff like “Natural Born Killers” or Marilyn Manson but instead those evil, pro swimming/beaching Beach Boys tunes or something.

But back to the matter at hand. One out of 500 knuckleheads slaps around a flight attendant on a flight after a couple drinks, so everybody has to suffer. Of course, it’s not a NUTROD involved, it’s a poor fellow victimized by the alcohol.

This relates to the core idea of Less Government vs. More Government. Which, consequently, is why I’m not longer billing myself a liberal. Of course, “conservatives” get a little silly with the Less Government, often assuming that racial inequality, for instance, is solved in this country. But then again...

The government is one of the most inept organizations around. If you wanna grant more power to governement to solve a problem, here’s something to think about first:

The Post Office.

Just visit your local post office. You still may decide that government should intervene, but just watch the knuckleheads for a while. Note how the mailman can’t seen to decipher apartment numbers properly, and how you always get a potpourri of mail from all around your apartment complex each day.

Another thing: I never understood the “Goin’ Postal” thing. Wouldn’t such an act require that you were stressed out? I’ve seen plenty of postal workers eatin’ sandwiches, doin’ crossword puzzles with a line out the door, but I’ve yet to see signs of stress there.

And also, I’ve never seen an “out to lunch” sign except at the post office’s bulk mail desk and other government agencies. (And who actually takes days like “President’s Day” off?)


Daily Limerick 7/31/2001:

A bold shell game master named Dan

sold implants that ruptured and ran.

Many bimbo rubes

bought defective boobs

from him, known as sili-Con Man.



I just overheard a commercial for men’s hair dye.

I know such a product has been around a while, but it’s only recently that stuff like this has been making more money and, thus, doing well enough to bother the hell out of us all by advertising. Along with ads for penile enlargement, a higher percentage of men getting plastic surgery...

This is not good.

Oh, I know the ladies on this subscription list are perhaps thinking, “Good—see how THEY like it for a change, becoming obsessed with superficial, outward images.” But let’s think about that for a moment.

Is the point of a world that’s civilizing itself more and more to make everybody equally screwed up? We’re not trying to have white people sold into slavery to “even things out.” We’re not seeking to shoot enough people to have us just as endangered as the spotted owls.

And, hey, as a straight guy, let me make one thing perfectly clear: It’s okay to go dyin’ your hair and being obsessed with body image if you’re gay. If you’re gay, you’re outta my realm for serious fun-making.

But if you’re straight doin’ these things, I’m compelled to call you a sissy pants. A fruitcake. Terms that wouldn’t be nice toward a gay man. Hey, I try to be a good, sensitive type of modern guy, but it can get sickening for a while, so that’s how I maintain a sense of dignity and avoid being a creepy, whiny, anti-fun, modern-day guilty liberal.

Come out of the closet and you can subscribe to GQ all you want. Otherwise, you’re a fruit cocktail there woosy boy.


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 then committed to at least a year of the limericks—a milestone I’ve already past! At this point, I’m not entirely sure why I’m continuing this, but I have no definite plans to stop—so perhaps I’ll do this 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 in limericks.


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


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