Editor’s note: April is National Poetry Month. In its continuing series on poetry, Hormones Matter pays homage to FAB (For/About/By) Women with this humorous take by Lauren Dillon.
Much to my father’s chagrin, my sense of humor has always been decidedly blue and bawdy. Even though he told dirty jokes that would make a sailor blush, Bob Dorsee didn’t think ladies should do the same.
“Your father wanted a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom. That’s just the way he was.”
Thanks, Mom; I needed to know that.
Today, I sit here with his book, “The Lure of the Limerick,” in front of me. Ragged edges and torn pages betray its heavy usage through the years, both by my father and by me. He might not have approved of it, but he gave me this ribald sense of humor. I am pleased and unembarrassed to share it.
On with the anecdotal verse, the dirtier the better:
While Titian was mixing rose madder
His model reclined on a ladder;
Her position to Titian
So he leapt up the ladder and had ‘er.
One of the things I love about the limerick form is the creativity is forces upon its writers. The words are not dumbed down, quite the opposite in fact; the rhymes are inventive and bright.
An accident really uncanny
Befell a respectable Granny;
She sat down in a chair
While her false teeth were there,
And bit herself right in the fanny.
Some lean more toward the scatalogical:
There was a young fellow named Cass
Whose ballocks were made out of brass.
When they tinkled together
They played “Stormy Weather”,
And lightning shot out of his ass.
Double entendres rule:
A very smart lady named Cookie
Said, “I like to mix gambling with nookie.
Before every race
I go home to my place
And curl up with a very good bookie.”
Take the case of a lady named Frost
Whose organ is three feet across.
It’s the best part of valor
To bugger the gal or
One’s apt to fall in and get lost.
Rosalina, a pretty young lass
Had a truly magnificent ass:
Not rounded and pink,
As you probably think –
It was gray, had long ears, and ate grass.
And finally, my personal favorite:
A wanton young lady of Wimley,
Reproached for not acting more primly,
Answered, “Heavens above!
I know sex isn’t love,
But it’s such an attractive facsimile.”
So you see:
The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical,
But the good ones I’ve seen
So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.