Gypsy Limerick Thread

There once was a Gypsy named Nuri,
Who found herself judged by a jury.
For the chicken she stole
They plucked her best mole,
Which made her react with great fury.

A Gypsy there was—name of Ferka,
Who once gave his sister a burka.
But she said, “Don’t you know?
Now my wares will not show.
So how you expect me to worka?”

A Gypsy I knew, of resolve,
With her soup had a problem to solve:
To get it to thicken
She pilfered a chicken.
But, sadly, it didn’t dissolve.

Unacceptable! Flagged and cursed, Sekaognidlaps!

Aargh! The flags won't "appear visually" until seconded! Am I the only enlightened person posting to this group?
Very disappointed, people, come on!

Ah, I see that another sensitive soul has encountered these vile calumnies and responded with flags. Thank you, whoever you are!

We’ve heard the songs of Papusza,
Bittersweet ballads of Europe’s great losers.
They dance, and they sing.
Wear the gaudiest bling.
As tragic – on cue – as hard Irish boozers.

(I'm also what's known as a 'sensitive soul', Thresher. It is a wonder we can get out of bed most mornings.)

Not a limerick, but the Irish are pissed that we've appropriated their great tragic genre, without so much as even a pint, mind you, for the lad in the corner...so a riddle:

As I was going to Rom
I met a man with seven homes
And every home had seven goats
And every goat had seven kids
Men, goats, kids…
How many were going to jail?

One night when she got a bit tipsy
enevada behaved like a Gypsy.
Bare feet in a whirl,
Her necklace a-twirl,
She danced all the way to Poughkeepsie!

#9: that was before Lent.

But here's another:

There was a fine man from Soroca
Whose taste ran to the barraco.
He embroidered his smocks.
Wore sandals with socks,
And sang for young boys from Morocco.

She danced all the way to Poughkeepsie!

...where she met these really cool Vasar girls who told her all about Wicca and deep ecology.

She came there to major in Chem,
But quickly announced, "no problem!"
It was so exciting,
Indeed, quite inviting.
"Though of the two styles, I'll take femme."

#11 Vassar girls, by definition, aren't cool

But anyway,

There was a student from Vassar
Who studied Romani from afar.
She read Colum's Zoli
Downed shots of iced Stoli
And now prefers Orban to Yasser.

A gypsy woman did arrange
To meet Oakes, but she thought it strange,
that he kept asking her,
“Are you really quite sure,
that those children of yours are free-range?”

A Carno I knew for a while,
Desired a name with more style.
He thought about "saur",
"Ivorous", and "vore",
Before happily settling on "phile".

Two gypsies from Vassar met Oakes
Who, nervous, emitted just croaks.
They looked at each other,
Rolled their eyes, said “Brother!
We’re gay girls; we've need of no blokes.”

A hetero-sexist I knew,
Was caught doing you know to who.
She said, "it's not fair,
That you are down there!"
So chivalrously, he withdrew.

At Vassar they were just so terse,
For Carno, it couldn't get worse.
So he dressed as a girl,
And gave it a whirl.
Like Crying Game--but in reverse.

The great part was that using that ruse at Vassar didn't require shaving my legs.

Some people of old Romany
Travelled to the hills by the sea.
Oakesspalding was there,
And he gave them a scare
Munching haunch of a free range gypsy.

A cultist named Gonadal Spikes
in the Personals said “My main likes,
Are those gay Vassar girls,
With their shiny blonde curls,
But you better not label them, um...Sapphic.”

Following #18:

She said, "Gosh, I'm a bit disconcerted.
Indeed, I feel slightly perverted.
But at any rate,
Though it's our first date,
I do declare I am converted!"

I'm so studly that I have the power to convert a lesbian! High praise indeed, and thank you, Oakes!

But I can't take all the credit. It's the shoggoth RNA.

A weirdo pre-Catholic I knew
Said, "Here are three things that are true:
There is so a God!
On Fridays, eat cod!
I'd rather have one flag than two!

Flagged, you Jacobite Papist!

I know you can get quite obsessive.
But please do not be so excessive.
That Vassar girls fall,
Is your wit--that's all.
The shoggoth gene's always recessive.

I shall now go somewhere to have the limerick curse lifted off of me.

the gypsy limerick curse can never be lifted, and more bad news:

I'm afraid, my dear brother Oakes,
in light of these sophomoric jokes,
by Vatican Council:
(whose patience is less than an ounce fill)
your piety is decreed a hoax.

I'm not sure you're allowed to have a fourth line that is three syllables longer than the third line.

OK, you got me on the minutiae. You're in - more Catholic than the Pope.

Welcome.

Well, more Catholic than the "the Pope", you mean. The True Pope owns a gas station in Topeka and was elected after my group broke with the Church a few years back over the heretical use of velcro in the Papal footwear. I am politely "going through the motions" at Cantius in Chicago because, as you well know, I'm the sort of guy who doesn't like to rock the boat about that sort of thing.

But,

Thank you.

>31 oakes:
Then I'd better use ironic quote marks:

You're a Jacobite "Papist."

Yes, or a Jacobite True Papist. And Hurrah for Prince Charlie--the True Prince Charlie, that is!

#31: The Church's position on the use of velcro has been consistent in its point of origin (the Essenian brouhaha non-withstanding, the Qumran scrolls were written on leather, the deterioration of which is a de facto argument against any prophylactic footwear in this temporal realm) and its well-founded skepticism of any French innovation since the dark days of Avignon.

However, we live in modern times. Some concessions must be made. And while Vatican II was certainly no endorsement of velcro, it did begin the dialogue within the Church that allowed for many practicing Catholics to take part - in their own fashion - in loosening of footwear societal norms that began in earnest in the decades to come.

Whether that was a good or bad thing remains to be seen.

Contemplating the perfection of your pitch here and elsewhere is equivalent to the feel and sound when one's cricket bat hits the ball just so. (Not that I've ever actually hit a cricket ball or held a cricket bat, but that's not important now.)

>34 oakes:

All this stuff about the Stuarts, the Electress of Hanover (why does that sound sexy to me?), etc., is ultimately irrelevant, since I am reconfiguring this Republic as the First Galactic Empire!

Until then, the important point is that members of the true faith can get along fine with hell-bound sinners.

Note: Enter the search
Jacobian, Catholic, Charles
into Google and the first result is “Efficient computation of forward kinematics and Jacobian matrix of...”

#37: ...because everything sounds sexy to you, Thresher. See you in hell, boys.

(although rumor has it, there's still a small chance of Purgatory for one of us. Oakes has called dibbs, but I'm not completely out yet...)

everything sounds sexy to you, Thresher.

It's true. Even the "efficient computation of forward kinematics" makes me feel a bit...warm. I actually like my kinematics to be a bit forward. The whole "demure" thing is so tiresome.

Chicago man visits Poughkeepsie, New York, and upon arrival is heard to say, "I'm feeling a bit peckish." Authorities are seeking to interview him as a "person of interest" in this case, in which - due to the state of the remains - cannibalism is a suspected motive.

There was a professor--it's true,
Who hadn't read Room with a View.
Quoth he "it's not lit,
Unless there's a tit,
Or better, unless there are two!"

And we have a winner!!

There once was a poster named Mary,
Whose imaginative quotient was very.
She loved Spock and Sulu,
Lovecraft and Cthulhu.
A lady she was (and quite merry!)

Awwwww. *blush* Thanks *scrapes foot in dirt*

>41 oakes:

Or three. Remember the magic of the third nipple!

The problem with three
(It seems so to me)
Is that if you meet
That fabled third teat,
It's likely as not to be wee.

If that's your experience, you've been hanging around with humans too much. Open your mind!