(based on suggestions from @mlledelicieuse and @suz_la)
1. Four-hour drive
When travelling far with a toddler
Your mind will grow oddler and oddler
But you won’t lose your rag
if when packing your bag
you make sure you’ve got your iPoddler.
Tsunami comes in by report
When changing the channel I’m taught
it’s not yet their turn:
disaster must learn
to wait until after the sport.
3. Dirty angel
A statue that in local slang
Created a nice sturm und drang
But still he looks down
On the rest of the town
Quietly holding his wang.
You know, as a matter of fact
my small-talk will lack in some tact
When a tantrum’s in flight
I’m not chatting ‘cause quite
honestly I can’t be frakked.
There once was a party in Yambuk
I drank and I didn’t pay one buck
I could have drunk many
But since I’m not twenny
I’ll stick to avoiding the upchuck.
Today’s poem is based on suggestions from two peeps:
- @mlledelicieuse: “I was once at a party in yambuk…limerick pls?”
- @suz_la: “dirty angel. You should write about the dirty angel”
I have blogged previously about my deep and abiding love of limericks.
So I have done you a weekend in Warrnambool’s worth of limericks –the drive down, the disaster in Japan that I had to wait until 7pm to learn more about, notorious local statues, stressing about a two-year old in a café while family tries to chat to you, and my friend’s 30th birthday party at the Yambuk pub (the photo is taken on the way to the bathroom).
At one point amidst family and car chaos I tweeted something along the lines of KILLMENOWKILLMENOW, and @tysonarmstrong came back with this gem that I get to reproduce in full:
@annaryanpunch I have made you a poem.
There was once a lady named Punch,
who wanted to die during brunch,
She logged onto Twitter,
Was no longer bitter,
And made it right through until lunch.
GOLD. Twitter, I don’t deserve you.