Finirick (50/90 Limerick Thread)

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Mowing the grass can be sweet
It can give your cross neighbours a treat!
They'll all rise in wonder
At 4 A.M. thunder...
With luck, you'll have treated the street!

In my hood they grumble 'bout clippings
Leaves and detritus slipping
Into the street
"We must all be neat!"
I'd rather be on the couch kipping.

Making noise can be done with the mower
Make the engine rev faster or slower
Sample some of the noise
Mix it up as you choise
And then at the neighbors you'll glower!

Once I was sent for a shredder
To make our business run better
Imagine the surprise
When I returned with - no lies!
A Tele/Twin combo like Vedder!

Oh the damn roof has been leaking
Since we fixed chimneys creaking.
One step forward
Seven more back toward
A shambling state we'd not been seeking...

Poor FiNiricks live in the shade
That hundreds of FiNikus made.
It's not rhyme, but reason
that gives them the season,
and that's why they win, I'm afraid.

It's not about quantity, rather quality;
And FiNiricks sure bring jollity!
While 'kus are contemplative,
'Ricks are inventitive!
And that's the end of my soliloquy!

To Finiku, there's come a seed
Of destruction, fuelled by some need
For desires collaborAtive.
It'll prove to be ablative
And of writers, FiNiku will bleed.

Once there was a dog called Laika
Who lived inside a balalayka
But they sent her to space
To be the first in the race
Instead of writing about it in a haiku

I've read too much musings of grandeur
Much more than mighty Amazon may meander
The muse should be straight
As a street pride parade
And ready for intertextual plunder

Oh, weekend, you smile at me, tempting
Me from my duties dirempting;
I must keep the pace,
Lest failure I face!
Ah, is this the cost of attempting?

So there’s *still* words that I’ve never heard?
(And I’m getting to be an old bird)
I may leave here unfinished
(My hope’s quite diminished)
But the goal was so flipping absurd!

Pass an audio book to the bird!
Her unbound desires have been stirred.
She can listen all day
To what it might say
For a word left unheard, that's a turd!

An early dictionary's full of good stuff
Filled only with "hard wordes" -- no fluff!
So be not antithetical
To A Table Alphabeticall
And cunne courtly and feemly, not rough!

Pass poor Tom rum in his saucer
Much kinder than plain milk and water
He'll find it more bearable--
Much less hysterical--
Than flashbacks to schooldays with Chaucer!

(with thanks for the get-better wishes, Tom)

Thif “eff” ifn’t hard to get ufed to
I can read with a lifp if I choofe to
If I fay what I fee
It makef no fenfe to me,
Af I make the adjuftment, I goof too

Y'all make me laugh like a lunatic
I think FiNiRick's truly your bailiwick!
Your huge range of puns
And wifdom homefpun,
Couldn't be measured by yard-fhtick!

Hail to that strange English tongue
That could even stir the skirts of a nun
If Chaucer had known
How a moustache is grown
much more fun with that nun in the sun

That old monk had "no lust to pleye"
From FiNiRick we'd must needs drive him away!
As wel we woot
Withoute pleye, tis moot
For that I rekke not a bean,I seye!

Thou'st learnéd, but in sooth thou art agéd.
Move now from thine esses outragéd!
Thy canticles sing
With a dark-aged ring...
Methinks ye old muse should be cagéd.

'es drinkin' t' hoose all dry
'Tis enoof ta mak' a man cry
When 'e's deep in 'is coops
An' 'e tries ta look oop
At t' helefant's eye aye 'igh

There once was a genre yclept "FiNiRick"
The reading of which gives one quite a kick
It's been gone for five days
Without them eyes glaze
But bringing it back's the sign of a lunatic...

Th' return of this genre is badness?
A reason for personal sadness?
Not a bit, my dear sir!
An assortment we prefer,
So we welcome your madness with gladness!

The return of FiNiRick makes you glad? Well,
When reading them one must be clad well
For horrific puns
Surely can stun
Hey! Isn't there a book 'bout this by Malcolm Gladwell?

What DOES one wear to a pun-flinging,
And not seem dressed for some gun-slinging?
The ammo is words
(With some corn for the birds)
But the aim is primarily fun-bringing!

Clothes maketh the man, so they say,
But here, we're all out to play.
Fake cladding's no-go,
Fake costumes also!
So feel free to fling them away...

Of FiNiRicks you all lay out a feast!
At word play: summa cum laude at least!
I laugh to split skies
With delight and surprise
I thank you for one of the best parts of this feast! Smile

(Sincerely!!!!) (Sorry about that repetition! )

Five days have gone past at a run
And at writing I've hardly begun
But five days to respond
In this thread of despond??
Proves Finiricks can't be much fun...

Seven times three minus six
Not math, but only soul tricks
Words - easy to say
As guitar, I do play
Replace later with something that sticks

So slick is the limerick
Quite quick is the mighty kick
If we just exit in time
There won't be nothing to rime
As we Bruce Lee through life hippy ick

I'm going to join those who claim "conspiracy!"
I've an ache in my arm -- right here, you see?
I got my flu shot
And that's not all that I got
The pain prevents guitar playing, please pity me!!!!

It’s bad enough work interferes,
Causing song counts to be in arrears,
To think that a shot
Could destroy time we’ve got —
That turns passionate playtime to tears!

There once was a sad bloke named Tom
Whose right arm got hit by a bomb
Well, really just an injection
But it caused great dejection
And the f******* pain made him f******* incapable of rhyme.

Your rhyming is clearly internal,
And the sentiment’s f****** eternal:
Is art born from pain?
No it’s not, that’s insane!
F****** pain is just f****** infernal!

The new semester has started - oh boy!
A new crop of students who'll enjoy
A little Descartes
Or Plato (that old fart)
But not one knew what I meant by "ahoy hoy"!

Could it be that now I'm the old fart?
Are my jokes just a little less smart?
I reference Elvis and Nixon
Mood rings and the Jetsons
Good golly, I'm old! Bring the cart!!!

If a moon lands in a puddle
drink from it while it doubles
Don't trouble the moon
Invite some racoons
And pretty soon you'll get nothing but bubbles

Raccoons, or cats dressed up like bandits?
Their eyes glowing green in the candids,
Theft caught by a flash
As they raided my stash
I will have to get more secure can lids.

My racoons got used to the hash
As I followed them back to their stash
We smoked a mean reefer
And as the evening got deeper
I discovered they've stolen my cash

“Betrayed by Raccoons”* was a sleeper!
(If you saw it, you know it’s a keeper)
Catching sins of commission
In iPhone Night-Vision**
The production could not have been cheaper!

*not a real thing
**also probably not a thing

What's reality, and what's not?
My subjective experience is all that I've got!
If the raccoons start talking
It's best to start walking
In my experience they only talk rot.

cheap mental productions
inhibit our social reactions
so buy a 3D-opticular
for your girl while you tickle her
and embrace the response to your actions

There was once a lad who did 50
Situps and pushups so nifty
Taxmen came
Ready with canes
So he did 50 more in a wiffie