A couple years ago, we were invited to a party in which the ticket for entry was a limerick. It’s the lowest form of poetry, which is why it’s always appealed to me. I was trapped on the tarmac at LGA the afternoon of the party and just started working one out. It was in the middle of the Eliot Spitzer / Call girl scandal, so he was the easiest target. Those original three limericks are sadly lost to history. I remember a few of the lines. I rhymed Spitzer with “schvitz her”. Once I figured out that the woman involved had a handy nine syllable name, Ashley Alexandra Dupree, I was off to the races, too.
I wrote a few last year, too, which I think are already posted. If not, I’ll get them up, but I set the bar impossibly high with the Spitzer work.
Here are the two I wrote this year:
Tiger liked to play more than one hole
Moms and kids see him a “model” role
He won’t ride in carts
But he’ll sext with some tarts
His sex rehab won’t save his soul
Elin Woods is a cute mom of two
Now knows of his penchant to screw
Pix not safe for work
He’s proved quite a jerk
He’d do many an ugly girl, too.