ZEFRANK.COM - message board - communal limericks

ZEFRANK.COM - message board (http://www.zefrank.com/bulletin_new/index.php)

- FICTION PROJECT (http://www.zefrank.com/bulletin_new/forumdisplay.php?f=17)

- - communal limericks (http://www.zefrank.com/bulletin_new/showthread.php?t=397)

Quote:

Originally Posted by Marcus Bales

I'm the guy who writes the good limericks.

Sure I do: and the test is whether I make a reasonable case for my opinions, since judging poetry is a subjective endeavor. I think I've made a reasonable case whenever you've made a really bad line. I don't bother to point out every sort of bad line, of course, only when one really grates.

I've asked YOU to stop writing bad limerick lines. That's the point, here, Ambo -- YOU are the one who won't stop. If you stop writing bad lines, I'll be happy to stop criticising the lines.

Bah. You've been asked to stop writing bad lines and you haven't done it. Stop writing bad lines and I'll stop making fun of your bad lines. I'm not down on YOU, Ambo, I'm down on your behavior and your work. Do better work, behave better, and your work and behavior won't be mocked.

But of course the problem is that you are writing prose when you should be writing poetry -- it's not that your prose does not live up to my standards for prose. It's that your prose does not live up to my standards for poetry. Perhaps one of the first things you should look into is the difference, eh?

Oh, no -- it's never a waste of time to try to educate the ignorant! Ignorance means "lack of information". It's the stupid (those who lack the processing power) who it's a waste of time to educate.

Look, Ambo, sometimes your lines are fine. Hell, sometimes my lines are crappy. Everyone writes a bad line now and then. Mocking bad lines is part of the game. Lighten up -- it's only communal verse on a bulletin board. No one even knows your real name, as far as I know. What are YOU complaining about, Ms Anonymous? You could write crappy lines forever and no one would ever connect it with your real life. I, on the other hand, sign my real name, and take some pride in my work. Maybe there's a lesson there for those who would learn it.

Well, I give up, Marcus. You cannot be reasoned with. The fact is that this is not a game - there is no need for you to compete here. You are also not a teacher here (or anywhere, I'd bet), and there is absolutely nothing I want to learn from the likes of you. What you are is the biggest ass I've come across on all the bulletin boards I frequent, even if you do sign your real name :rolleyes: . I just hope that this pathetic need of yours to belittle and criticize the people around you makes up for whatever you are so obviously overcompensating.
P.S. I think your limericks suck, but you notice I had the manners (yes manners - perhaps you should look that up) not to say it over and over and over again.

My gun is in need of a cleaning
And my chicken coop needs a good screening
That terrible hawk
Has been culling the flock

Quote:

Originally Posted by ambo

... The fact is that this is not a game

Oh, my dear girl! I had no idea you were really trying hard to write real poetry! I'm so sorry to have hurt your feelings.

My gun is in need of a cleaning
And my chicken coop needs a good screening
That terrible hawk
Has been culling the flock
He's poultry in motion's new meaning.

now now friends, kiss and make up

now now friends, kiss and make up
don't have a cow or a pup

now now friends, kiss and make up
don't have a cow or a pup
It's meant to be fun
a small written pun

now now friends, kiss and make up
don't have a cow or a pup
It's meant to be fun
a small written pun
just don't get the cadence screwed up

I'm kicking the can down the road

I'm kicking the can down the road
I left my emotional load

I'm kicking the can down the road
I left my emotional load
back home in the city

I'm kicking the can down the road
I left my emotional load
back home in the city
And now my new ditty

I'm kicking the can down the road
I left my emotional load
back home in the city
And now my new ditty
Goes "worries are down the commode"

The breeze sets my wind chimes a-tinkling

The breeze sets my wind chimes a-tinkling
I squint in the sun, crow's feet wrinkling,

The breeze sets my wind chimes a-tinkling
I squint in the sun, crow's feet wrinkling,
A fresh sense of dread
Compels me to shed

The breeze sets my wind chimes a-tinkling
I squint in the sun, crow's feet wrinkling,
A fresh sense of dread
Compels me to shed
My lunch as I gag in the stinkling.

Of all of the gin joints in town

Of all of the gin joints in town
it's this one where you choose to drown
your sorrows with booze

Of all of the gin joints in town
it's this one where you choose to drown
your sorrows with booze
and slow country blues

Of all of the gin joints in town
it's this one where you choose to drown
your sorrows with booze
and slow country blues
while your tears fall like rain on your gown

The cobweb across the front door

The cobweb across the front door
somehow serve to enhance the decor

The cobweb across the front door
Somehow serves to enhance the decor
The dog poo, contrarily

The burn marks down there on the floor
Somehow serve to enhance the decor

The burn marks down there on the floor
Somehow serve to enhance the decor
in this type of bar room

The cobweb across the front door
Somehow serves to enhance the decor
The dog poo, contrarily
was spread about scarily

The burn marks down there on the floor
Somehow serve to enhance the decor
in this type of bar room
where a Harley's the broom

The burn marks down there on the floor
Somehow serve to enhance the decor
in this type of bar room
where a Harley's the broom

I want it...please.

and a hole in the wall is the door.

The cobweb across the front door
Somehow serves to enhance the decor
The dog poo, contrarily,
was spread about scarily
Stinking in piles on the floor.

L'il Pluto should still be a planet

L'il Pluto should still be a planet
Clyde rolls in his grave and moans "Damn it"

L'il Pluto should still be a planet
Clyde rolls in his grave and moans "Damn it"
St. Chris is no longer a saint,

L'il Pluto should still be a planet
Clyde rolls in his grave and moans "Damn it"
St. Chris is no longer a saint,
The Kouros faux paint

L'il Pluto should still be a planet
Clyde rolls in his grave and moans "Damn it"
St. Chris is no longer a saint,
The Kouros faux paint
And the country's so broke we can't man it!

The cats are asleep in the sun

The cats are asleep in the sun
In cat dreams the birds have begun

The cats are asleep in the sun
In cat dreams the birds have begun
to shit on the heads

The cats are asleep in the sun
In cat dreams the birds have begun
to shit on the heads
and Sunday-best threads