Limericks Tell The Story
I am as talented at crafting intelligent limericks as I am at jumping out of a plane behind enemy lines and incapacitating a huge army of North Korean soldiers without anything but a pocket knife, rubberband and an unopened box containing a brand-new Series 2 (40 hour) TiVo.
Nonetheless, I have chosen to tell you a little more about myself via limericks, because it doesn’t seem so serious and it’s a way for me to keep my fragile emotional state in balance because, well hey – they’re limericks!
There once was a man from L.A., who always thought he knew what to say, until one night at a bar, he pissed off a guy in a brand-new really expensive car… The End.
The same cool dude’s name was Paul, he knew how to write and sing karaoke and that wasn’t all, he met this girl at a dinner, who he thought was a winner… The End.
He wrote books and a blog and a journal, his dad was never in the army nor a colonel, he loved Laffy Taffy and Abbazabba as well, even though when he chewed it, it gave his teeth hell, and so on.
There were sometimes at night in his bed, that the memories came back, to his head, the most drastic and sad, the most horrific and bad… The End.
I’m looking at this book I got on how to write limericks and I think I’m missing something. Let me get back to this when I have a few more spare moments.