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TNB Holiday Limerick Contest: Win a Signed Copy of C, by Tom McCarthy!
By Milo MartinNovember 29, 2010
The holidays are upon us. The season of giving.
In keeping with the yuletide spirit, we here at TNB are pleased to announce the launch of The TNB Holiday Limerick Contest, the winner of which will receive a signed copy of C, the new novel from celebrated English writer Tom McCarthy. C was shortlisted for the prestigious Man Booker Prize earlier this year, and you can read a review of it right here on TNB.
The signed copy of C comes to us from the good people at AbeBooks, one of the web’s premiere book marketplaces and a great spot to find used, new, rare, and out of print titles.
Entering the contest is simple. Rules go as follows:
1.) This is a limerick contest. To enter, you must write a limerick and post it on the comment board below. That’s it. (If you’re not sure how to write a limerick, please click here.)
2.) The limerick MUST begin and end with the letter “C.” For example:
Charlie was awfully prophetic
He was also a good bit pathetic
He predicted tomorrow
While weeping with sorrow
And embracing a dour aesthetic.
3.) Limericks will be judged on two basic criteria: A.) technical mastery, and B.) humor. The best-written, most laugh-out-loud funny limerick wins. And remember: It must begin and end with the letter “C.” (Meaning: The first letter of the first word in the limerick must be “C.” And the last letter of the last word in the limerick must be “C.”) Limericks that fail to meet this standard will be disqualified from the competition.
4.) The contest will be judged by me, Milo Martin, and my cohorts on the editorial staff of TNB’s Poetry section. (TNB Poetry editors are, of course, not allowed to enter. Everyone else is welcome.)
4.) Contestants may enter as many times as they like. It’s a free-for-all, people. Bring it.
5.) Entries will be accepted all week long, and the contest will end on Friday, December 3rd, at 11:59 p.m. EST. The winner will be announced on TNB on Monday, December 6th. The winner will receive public adulation, the thrill of victory, and the aforementioned signed copy of C, which will ship soon after.
If you have questions, please direct them to postmaster [at] thenervousbreakdown [dot] com.
Many thanks, and happy holidays!
-MM
Cursing came natural to Alec,
He certainly wasn’t angelic,
He relished ‘cocksucker,’
And loved ‘motherfucker,’
while playing with anything phallic.
Cyndee was TSA authentic,
she touched my junk unapologetic.
She grinned a ‘grinchy” smirk,
then whispered, “did you find
that erotic?”
oops, my bad, didn’t get it quite right
cyndee was TSA authentic,
she touched my junk unapologetic,
she grinned with a smirk,
while sensing my irk,
and said, “SO EROTIC!”
Came a young slut from New Brunswick,
’twas science that made ‘er cunt slick.
Her actions on campus,
gave her many bad crampus;
for she fucked the whole polytechnic.
Criticism came from across the sea
For the Coreans fighting readily
Sarah Palin’s homeboy Kim
Roughing up the Pacific Rim
And causing tension in D.C.
(Damn, I forgot to include a swear word… Bollocks.)
Cheri would often make aspic
that nobody claimed was fantastic
since none would consume
she stuffed her bosom
and invented the push-up prosthetic
Christ was a humble ascetic
that Pontius Pilate conceded
was too big a lout
to let walkabout
so he slipped him the nails orthopedic
Ouch!
Came Day One with limericks supersonica
makes a boy want to play a fucked-up harmonica
four more days
to let genius play
but for now, i’ll just wish you a Happy Hannukah(c).
Put on your yarmulke…
It’s time for Hannukah
Drink your gin and tonic-a
And SMOKE YOUR MARIJUAN-ICA.
That’s not a limerick.
But now I have to go listen to the song.
Cat’s never could catch old Saint Nick
They tried but their claws wouldn’t stick
He turned his wee prancer
‘Pon the reindeer named Dancer
Turns out pussies weren’t enough of a kic(k).
I don’t even mind being disqualified. I’m absolutely a sucker for limericks.
Disqualify me for BAD PUNCTUATION. Cat’s = Cats
Comet was stuck in the Arctic
And needed a dash of anarchic
She found a small rocket
Put it down in her pocket
And learned toys for the kids were cathartic
Clever you, spewing out words, sometimes a tad pindaric
Witty and wise, words buzzing like flies, but never ever generic
Could listen all day and try to make sense
Always must question, from where, from whence?
One step ahead, minds bending like bands, as you remain esoteric
Celine and Elton’s schedule was drastic
Their rehearsals were mostly frenetic
Said she, ‘you are wrong’
Said he, ‘Its MY song’
So please, just for once, sing the lyric!
Well, I didn’t read the instructions at first and wrote this:
When the girl Santa had on his lap
Had just settled herself for a nap,
Said the elf, “What is this?
“You’re full-grown, little miss.
“And I fear I’ve now gotten the clap!”
And then this:
I had just begun decking the halls
When my wife came straight home from the malls.
As I held up the wreath
My wife stood just beneath
And proclaimed, “Why, that’s some pair of balls!”
Rules for this particular compo aside, your limerick is brilliant. You simply must enter it into *some* limerick contest somewhere.
Are there many limerick contests? All this time I thought writing limericks was just another of my unremunerative skills.
Candy canes are an unhealthy trick
For selling that jolly elf shtick.
Twas some candy from Claus
That I’m sure was the cause
Of my sister evolving a tic.
Claws, Sandy was a hopeless romantic,
and recently became quite too frantic,
while sexting his mistress,
Mrs. claws showed her distress,
and drowned his jolly arse on the Titantic!
it’s titanic not titantic, apologies for the misspell
Consuming fruitcake acidic,
the guests made faces you’d deem quite pathetic,
when to their surprise,
in the blink of an eye,
came the medic with ipecac synthetic!
A last line beginning with C and containing 3 words ending in C. Bravo!
thanx
“Cunt!” the woman shouted across the attic,
For now she seemed nothing but frantic,
She had heard the fuck,
What sheer dumb luck,
I still found her husband terrific.
jolly good job, i fa la la la like this
Camille was having a bad holiday week
Her plus-one was Cris Angel – mind freak
“How can I cope?,”
she whined, “There is no hope,
My festive season was meant to be tres chic”
Claus the saint was a little bit manic,
To his shrink even seemed schizophrenic.
But when man gotta fly
On a sleigh through the sky
It’s enough to make anyone panic.
on the short list, surely.
Claus dodged ack ack in Dubrovnic
was chased by the drones in Kirkuk
the last straw was Kashmir
“How the FUCK did I get here?”
His TomTom’s now in the Pacific
Bwahahahaha! Nice one. It all started when NORAD started tracking him, ya know. Hey! Sleigh bogey over Najaf. Shall we launch SAMs?
Chic Cherie herself out did conk
though the motorists, harried, did honk
at her pink Pontiac,
“You bleep maniac!”
(Cherie cherished her sauvignon blanc.)
fantastic meter!
Nicely done.
Crowds rushed to the local Sonic
To drink the new slushy tonic,
But they all died of thirst,
Quarreling to be first
Now isn’t that rather ironic?
Neat. I’ll have mine with gin, though 🙂
Consuming a great deal of Cognac
caused dramatist Cyrano de Bergerac
to write much great prose,
looking over that nose,
all with the panache of a maniac.
Well, well, well, look who’s turned up here.
Your comment I found to be lacking
(though mine, you will see, is lip-smacking)
If you aren’t going to rhyme
you are wasting our time
so best you start typing, get cracking!
It’s a hard thing to rhyme
with a head full of slime.
You see, there’s no trick
I’m really quite sick.
Hard to rhyme when you’re sick, yeah, I hear ya
The build-up of snot tends to bury ya
For writer’s phlegm block
Never mind the old doc
Just pretend you have Shakespeare’s bacteria.
Churchill, while not quite a pillock,
never quite perfected Cyrillic.
The reason, he said,
and what filled him with dread,
was that Stalin he found diabolic.
Citing methods that defied sound logic,
Steve strived to become atomic.
Though details are hazy,
They say he went crazy,
Or at least a bit zygotic.
Cathy was rather deontic.
All that she did was Vedantic,
But she liked to drink,
and she liked to think,
So she scrawled anacreontic.
Carolers sang out the music
while revelers loosened their tunic
the booze wasn’t spared
inhibitions were bared
and the antics were far from platonic
Now you’re onto something.
office holidaze partee right?
Chris Kringle’s plight is considered by most, quite dynamic,
Doles out gifts back and forth the Atlantic,
But when old rudolph passed on,
There was no other spawn,
Guiding his sleigh we all know as GIGANTIC.
dead winner
Cab drivers are nihilistic.
Their driving deterministic.
However they drive,
They want you alive,
After your ride atavistic.
Shit, Milo,
This is hard with your rules!
but oh-so challenging, doncha thinc?
this will certainly be a challenge for me and we’ve got two days left…
(Holding hands over ears)
LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA
Cheers, fa la la la, winter frolic,
We stroll singing carols so symbolic,
But wait, shock, surprise,
Comes a blizzard mega sized,
That buried our plans preidyllic!
Could anyone write me a lim’rick
That pleasures my own systems limbic?
Says the allocortex,
A Tyrannical Rex:
You’re visual – make sure it’s filmbic
Calm Milo starts a disaster.
He can be quite the taskmaster.
He makes up some rules.
Turns us into fools,
Each of us a poetaster.
“Cap’n Milo it’s unrealistic
To set rules upon the artistic.”
What you don’t realize
(That’s our little surprise)
It’s a quest for the most masochistic.
Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone 😉
Mum’s the word, Uche…
Shit!
I forgot the end letter.
You’re driving me crazy, Milo!
Come calm Irene down, who is in quite a panic
The limerick rules – she finds quite satanic,
She needs some respite
before she takes flight,
Quick! Help her before she’s goes manic!
HA!
Calling patrol cars Zionic
It’s time to play hooky on phonic
Forget limerick shit
I got a sure hit
Someone light up and pass her the chronic.
Crikey, Ogbuji colonic
explodes with a verse supersonic
projectile in spots
he zings Zara Potts
setting fire to Miss Zion’s tonic
Any limerick with my name in it should automatically win.
HAAAAAAAA.
Chuck’s straight as a straight man can be,
While Tim’s gay, obviously.
The third brother, Ray,
Is neither B nor A,
He’s bi, which is to say, he’s a C.
bravo.
short list.
Ooh! Nice one.
Yeah,
Greggie’s smart and witty.
Cabbage is truly demonic.
Stuffing the area pelvic.
One next starts to fart.
The crowd then does part.
Kimchi is typically caustic.
Colostomy bag?!?! Charismatic!
she said as the date went erratic
instead of a fuck
she jumped in her truck
and managed an exit strategic
Cold comfort was the Thanksgiving emetic
She downed to regurge methadone, a synthetic
Heroin substitute,
Which had been basted up the boot
Of a Butterball with a downtown aesthetic.
Cunt cunty cum cunt cunty coccyx
fuck fuckity fun fucking fuckit
front cunt squirty squirt
cunt front flirty skirt
cunt cunty fun cunty cunt pubic
I was never one for the whole, “go to heaven” thing, anyway.
Excellent! We’ve been needing a template to teach modern children scansion.
fjうぇfっj；’lkっjlけrfjlkj’pj’ぽj
Scary Milo!
Can you see me?
I am holding up my fingers in a cross
in order to ward you away!
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
I need to go to sleep!
五都sレエp、イレネ、語とsれえp。。。
みろ
和
Come hither to me, my poetic.
Your words they save me, quite heroic.
But you’re down on the floor,
Your head stuck in my door.
Perhaps you are just alcoholic.
AHHHH! I wanted so badly to be cool like Greg
and not use the ic thing!!
Yes, I agree with Stephanie. It would be nice to get a run without the “ic”. There are plenty of gambits left, to be sure, e.g.
“To his corny provincial”
Mon amour I want to kiss your neck
Come give this monsieur a sweet peck
Just don’t say anything
Oh my love flows like spring
While pretending you’re not from Quebec.
Err, oops. I mean:
Cherie let me nuzzle your neck
Come give this monsieur a sweet peck
Just don’t say anything
Oh my love flows like spring
While pretending you’re not from Quebec.
Good save, Uche!
See Milo?
Even Uche messed up your rules at first.
Uche!
To be fair I’m not qualified to compete. I was just trying to demonstrate some non ic-ky endings.
Cut Miss Sarah Palin some slack
Who cares if she doesn’t know jack
With each late night show jibe
And egghead diatribe
The dumb dollars keep swelling her PAC.
OK, so maybe that one’s just depressing 😉
Chopsticks just make you a dork
And it’s pointless to pick up a fork
Just grab with your hands
What your tummy demands
If you happen to dine with an orc.
And with that, I’m getting away from a screen. Sweet doggerel dreams till tomorrow.
I thought the whole point of a fork was the points.
Christmas craps on the thickest agnostic
Forced to fill out a festive acrostic
But the spiked nog wears off
Rudolph says turn and cough
But, like a groin pull, hope springs elastic
bravo
Competitions like this, you’ll agree,
Give oceans of scope for a spree.
Down stream hopeful torrents
To the judges abhorrence
That all rivers shall lead to the C.
Clever.
Clicking buttons these days is so quick,
Text messaging’s ever so slick!
But it’s spelling’s decline
That makes purists opine,
“It’s enuff to make evry1 (sic)”.
Love it!
This the only one that has made me laugh out loud … shame I’m not a judge.
mucho clever
I thought this was a HOLIDAY contest, so I’m sticking with the theme. To wit:
Could you please tell me how Sainted Nick
Spends all year in the frozen Arctic?
See, that magical sleigh
He can use just one day.
Of course, then, he finds it cathartic.
Ok – here goes – trying to deviate from the ic.
Can you please give me a callback?
It’s not like I’m living in Balzac.
The Skype is still free.
I’ll be up until three
To finish my bottle of Malbec.
Yeah!!
Ding ding ding!
“Cherubs!” yelled Satan bombastic,
“These holidays are nothing but slapstick.
All this Christmas shopping,
I’m just going to scream
If I can’t find my Hell’s platinum plastic!'”
Wicked!
heh. Thanks. I love all of yours. Way better than mine.
Carlin made a sled out of matchsticks.
He lit it and boomed “Scientific!”
As the sled burst to flames
And his dick melted away
He said, “Well isn’t this fucking fantastic.”
Come hither, to me, oh John Cusack!
You are my t̶r̶u̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ aphrodisiac.
My no-show pillow-talker,
don’t you call me a stalker;
my dear, we’re matched in the zodiac!
Clarice said she was clean (I’m a skeptic);
I’ve a pain in my gut – is it peptic?
Oh no! Clarice my dear
You’re syphilitic I fear,
And the end of my organ is septic.
Oo’er! Steel belted radial condom, next time.
Thanks, Uche, maybe the ever ready Miss Fist might be a better option in this case. 😉
Colleen said, “Shall we hit the sack”,
And preceeded in wrecking my back.
Nyphmomaniac habits
Meant shagging like rabbits,
And B.J.s that pulled like a vac.
Definitely does not suck!
“Cracking safes?” said new kid on the block,
“Any safe! Anywhere! Any lock!”
But his brag turned to gloom
With an almighty boom,
When he blew out his belly, ad-hoc.
wait a minute here folks…..I understood this to be a “holiday themed” limerick, right?
Lots of sex over the holidays, I guess.
sex?! these doods just sound like a bunch of creepers, the kind of perbs who trool the net for desperate sex starved LOSERS. way up there on the yucko meter…..but that’s just my opinion
maybe they’re all just t. woods in diguise
“pervs trolling the net” can’t spell 4 poop
me thought this was a literary site…who’s ur publisher, Larry Flint?
Patricia, my dear, sometimes in the truest of true limerick sense
things do get bawdy, especially with limericks…
it’s just the way
going back to fisherman/woman on the docks with whiskey…
truly,
Milo
“sex?! these doods just sound like a bunch of creepers, the kind of perbs who trool the net for desperate sex starved LOSERS. way up there on the yucko meter…..but that’s just my opinion”
You almost have the jigsaw pieces of a limerick there. And a word starting with c, but not one ending with c. How about:
Chastity missing its mark
Puts my holiday mood in the dark
My virginal ear
Prefers rhymes on reindeer
I’m the resident St. Joan of Arc!
ok, maybe ur right but to me “indecent and distasteful aren’t quite the same. old tyme limericks (to me) appear cloaked for the reader to disern, like the very early nusery rhymes. that’s where the creative genius takes place. just saying….some of these peeps come off sounding like tween wankers with one track minds.
ima gonna google meself some ol tymey limericks
ima prude doncha know it….yeeehaww
me thinks im not a shoe in now….whaaaaaaaaabooohooohooo
anyhoo, i retired from the Navy after 23 yrs so i know Plenty bout fishing/docks
isn’t grrrrreat 2 b an american, wheresya can express yer pnions
Drink more. That’ll help.
yo uche,
don’t b pickin on my raindeer…thems my family pets and thats where i draw the line
. like yo momma and u become defensive, i’m the same way bout sweet lil innocent raindeer!
“awww, come mer Dancer, mommy won’t let those bullies get ya.”
yo becky, u buyin
Sure. I’ll fix you.
Keep posting like this and I won’t have to, though.
becky my bestie, she’s gonna buy me drinks
porque
u sound like 1 tuff broad miss beki…do u have black belt
I have a fuck you belt.
It’s like an “I’ll ruin you” belt, but bitchier.
oh….becki…ur sooo turning me on. luv me some S & M any day of the wk
stickies-n-stonies will breaky me bonies……hurt me, hurt me
How many comments does it take to get to the center of the stick of beef jerky?
You are awesome, Uche. Your comments are gold! 🙂
Cruel was the handjob so brisk,
so yanking with far too much wrist.
She pounded his taint,
’til he started to faint,
then torqued and slipped his third disc.
yo dood, there’s this “lovely” chick on the corner of south & main in BangCOCK who want 2 meet u. te he he
Comet glanced at the dude that appeared carcinogenic,
When down the chimney he slid most cyclonic,
Then Scrooge hacked to bits,
The gifts and St. Nick,
Gleefully shouting, did he, it’s all about being demonic!
Charles, while writing his limerick
beat out the time with a chopstick.
he didn’t want to allude
to anything rude,
just to try to keep it rhythmic.
Christmas cookies hard as a brick,
Under mistletoe with some douchy prick,
Need me some cheer,
Not a friggin raindeer,
To make me holidaz epic!
Patricia’s the poet dontcha know it!
Candy is dandy, so sinful to lick
though liquor is quicker, thus Cognac’s the trick
But a dash of Caribb’ean Rum
splashed across Sweet Candy’s bum
is a most luscious treat for Saint Nic’
Cold mutton verse disturbingly
fails, so please enlighten me:
no “fuck-it” apportioned?
“Nantucket” abandoned?
then, toss all these screeds in the sea!
Points for alluding to the Limerick Book of Genesis (OK, more like Song of Songs 😉 ).
Chanukah, dreidel, xenophobic,
Chow on latkes, lite candles aerobic,
Screw u Adolph, phew,
For I am a Jew,
And ur just a pissy homophobic!
Creepy old drug buster, narc,
Spoiled my x-mas holiday lark,
With hash brownies to bake,
That crazy snowflake,
Slapped on cuffs b4 I could walk!
my bad…walk doesn’t end w/ a “c”
っおおおおおおおおおおおおおおお
おおおおおおおおおおおおおおおお
っっっっっっっっっっっっ
っっっっっっっっっっっっ
おおおおおおおおおおおおおおおっ
みろ
plz feel obliged to translate ur commet cuz i have a sneakin suspision ur makin fun of my contributions….if so, i’ll happily quit playin ur tnb raindeer games;o)
Cunnilingus is considered erotic,
yet you lay there like one catatonic,
I wish you would coach it
yet I can’t seem to broach it
“Cat’s got your tongue” seems ironic
Christmas Eve old Saint Nick on a lark
Gave his woman a goose in the dark.
But a reindeer he nailed
In his fluffy white tail
And sweet Rudolph sailed off in an arc.
Cold wind blowing away my life
My icy hand trembling with knife
I stare with a glare
There is no more air
I return to my land called Fife
White silky fabric lying down
Crispy wind blowing down Earth with crown
Honored with gold rain
Silver winged train
Here I stand where I lay with frown
Cold wind blowing away my life
My icy hand trembling with knife
I stare with a glare
There is no more air
I return to my land called Fife
White silky fabric lying down
Crispy wind blowing down Earth with crown
Honored with gold rain
Silver winged train
Here I stand where I lay with frown
One day I was climbing a tree
It felt as if I was set free
I heard a branch crack
Then next was my back
And now it is carved R.I.P
There once was a girl who loved school
So she thought she was really cool
She fell down the stairs
And looked like a bear
Which made herself into a fool
There once was a fellow named Jack
His favorite color was black
The floor had a crack
He fell on his back
And now he is stuck in a sack
Uchegoochi was all hi & mighty,
Thought his poop didn’t stink in his dydee,
When yo, BIG surprise,
Surrouned by flies,
Was the Mother of all turds in his nighty!
Chance decided to have me love
Love a person that is estrogen void of
Yet I am not gay
I need not pray
This is what I am proud of
Yo, yo, yall, it’s a contest time
Write a cussing sing-song poem, 4 one measly dime,
Use words like cunt, cock, whore
Till ya be a bore,
cuz it’ll excite, nuttin but the bottom feeding slime!
Well ok then, my dear limerick creators,
that twas a fun adventure…
like a bumpy sleigh ride
down an icy freeway…
We covered much ground here, that’s for certain…
Thank you for your prowess in verse
and more importantly, your fine spirit…
Now my tasking begins to actually choose a winner…
Oy, what a job…there is a part of me looking forward to this process
and a part of me which is dreading having to choose…
The 2010 TNB Limerick Queen/King will be announced this Monday…
Chanks again for your wit iconic…time now for some nog and tonic…
truly,
Milo
[…] only problem is, we can’t seem to come up with a decent tagline. So we figured, hey, Milo’s limerick contest went pretty well, and everyone digs that cartoon caption contest on the back page of The New Yorker […]