Someone dared me to write a latke limerick. (No need to check your calendars. Hanukkah’s still in December.)
A latke debate has emerged:
“Eat latkes with sugar,” Mark urged.
“Using sugar sounds weird,”
Sev’ral said. Others cheered.
As for me, latkes ought to be purged.
We were packed and all ready to jet
To a beachfront resort, when “Not yet,”
Said my wife. “I must go
Get my hair curled by Flo.”
Hours later: “Let’s leave. I’m all set.”
(For the record, I don’t have a wife. But I do have a procrastinating husband with no concept of time.)
While thinking’s a fine thing to do,
Lately thoughts have been turning me blue.
They kick up a stink,
So I can’t sleep a wink.
(What a shame that there’s no one to sue.)
Here’s hoping your new year is great!
(2020 sure sucked — no debate.)
If the new vaccines work,
And Mitch ISN’T a jerk,
We just might have a year we don’t hate.
I’m grateful the year’s end is nigh.
Good riddance — no need to say why.
Though the reasons are endless,
A whiner is friendless;
I’ll just bid it an effing goodbye!
The new year is coming up fast,
As I think of the world’s recent past.
It feels like the brink,
So to hope I shall drink:
Next year’s GOT to be better than last.
*****
Resolution Disclaimer:
Resolutions ain’t sticky, I fear,
Be it sugar, tobacco or beer.
If you’ve broken that pledge,
Please don’t be on edge.
No worries! There’s always NEXT year.
*****
Drunken Limerick:
Can I write silly verse after drinking?
Let’s see. Wait a second — I’m thinking.
Can’t come up with a verse
Or a rhyme. Even worse,
I suspect that this limerick’s stinking.
We’re off to a nice Bayside pub,
Where Mark will eat Irish-type grub.
I’ll eschew all the food,
But will alter my mood
Through libations — a spiritous sub.
If your past resolutions seem old
And you’d like one that’s novel and bold,
You could vow to spend time
With more wordplay and rhyme…
And to enter the contests I hold.
A man was beginning to grasp
The danger of bites from an asp.
A thought bubble snaked
Through his brainwaves half-baked:
“Pet asp? I’m an ass!” — his last gasp!
It’s Canada Day, so congrats.
You Canucks surely think that we’re bats.
And I have to concede
That you’re right. If I need
To flee Trump, do you have any flats?
On St. Patrick’s Day food I’m not keen.
Its corned beef and cabbage cuisine
Makes my stomach feel queer,
And the same goes for beer.
Partake… and I’ll surely turn green.
It’s “Leap Day,” a day that is rare,
Which strikes me as rather unfair;
Leap Days fall just in years
Deemed “bissextile.” No leers
Please at “sex” in that term. Don’t you dare!
At the start of each year, it’s tradition
To draw up a vow-list, the mission
Being clean up one’s act
In some way. But in fact,
Our lapses soon lead to contrition.
For her party, she planned lots of glitter,
But forgot; she’s a bit of a flitter.
So nothing was clinquant.
That gal was delinquent…
Also smart; this cut down on the litter.
The new year is coming up fast,
As I think of the world’s recent past.
It feels like the brink,
So to hope I shall drink:
Next year’s GOT to be better than last.
That annual moment is near,
When I notice I’ve failed to adhere
To the “vow list” I wrote;
Resolutions I’ll quote
In my NEW list. (They’re longer each year.)
I’m not writing a climate-change screed,
But I’d wager most folks would concede
This is crazy as heck:
Icy drinks on our deck,
Late December, New York. Coat? No need!
Halloween week I sampled some candy,
But stuff that I used to find dandy
Made me cringe with distaste.
Has aging laid waste
To my taste buds? I’d rather drink brandy.
Have the folks who make chocolate treats
Altered recipes, cheapened these sweets
Till they taste like debris?
Is it them? Is it me?
Either way, here come healthier eats.
