There was a guitarist named Ridge
Who went to get food from the fridge.
He came back with a snork,
Cause a song called "New York"
Told Ridge to be Tappan Zee Bridge.

Johnny was quite a big strutter,
But his dairy would soon hit the gutter.
He kept his composure,
But soon got foreclosure,
And still can't believe there's no butter.

A good friend of mine is a fretter.
(He plays the guitar) (he's a shredder)
He also does blogs,
But his posts croak like frogs.
So frankly, I do like mine better.

On the death of a fella he knows,
The minister said "Yeah, it blows,
But praised be his father
And praised be his son
And praised be the hole he goes."

Screw rhyme.

There was an old woman whose bap
Looked quite like a large baseball cap
When asked "Are they real?"
She'd often appeal:
"If you ask me once more I will flap."

Jimmy's depression had made
Him see his whole life in a shade
Of blue, like the water
He jumped in (or ought've):
"All's well that ends well," he bade.

I decided to have a small ball,
And invited two guys down the hall.
When a friend came to see,
What they're doing with me,
We said "Just lemon party, that's all."

When Dora and friends reach agression
And boyfriend commits a transgression,
Dora soon sees
That her heart will soon freeze:
She'll turn from post-Marten depression.

(Questionable Content kicks ass, almost as much as XKCD)

Penn and Drew Carey are grand,
And their galas will never be bland.
When crashing the gate
Of celeb real estate
Just tell them that "I'm with the Rand."

Sue was a big, lovely girl
Whose boyfriend just hated to curl.
He wanted her thinner,
So 'stead of no dinner,
He bought her a cheap Tilt-A-Whirl.

I've recently started to dance less
Because I've been getting romance less
The girth of my gut
Rivals only my butt
So you'd hate when I'm dancing round, pants-less.

For all of my life, I don't know
If I'll ever get even a blow.
So now I depart,
With a quite empty heart,
Because to bed, not in bed, I go.

Some tiny Nevadan bodegas
Sell sunglass-adorned rutabagas.
You can't turn around
After nights on the town:
Happenin' bagas must stay right in Vegas

Entomologists really aren't sluggers
But some are no victim to muggers
Admittedly gay,
They will soon gets their way
For they chase the thieves off, good ol' buggers.

In protecting Canadian bounty,
And saving those creatures so downy,
There's one rule to follow
That's easy to swallow:
You just save a moose, ride a Mountie.

I once had got luck in the past
I'd found I had struck oil mass
But when came the taxman
He showed me the facts and
Decreed "You are screwed up the butt."

This is a blog.

I intend, of many known aims
To use this for limerick games.
If you, from above
Think poets need love
Then let's talk - I always need dames.

I'm a music/computer science double major, and I enjoy making people laugh and writing limericks in my free time, whatever free time I have. After posting them in Facebook statuses (and then annoying my entire friend list) for a few months, I decided to move them here. Whenever I'm bored, I'll go to this blog and post a new one. And maybe throw in some random political/societal commentary while I'm at it. Can't hurt.

If you wish to write for the blog, send me an email, ahwitz at gmail| dot com, tell me, and I'll add you in.