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Whether SUV, compact or coupe,
You're in, with the rest of your group,
A tin box proceeding
At speeds far exceeding
What nature intended. Poop! Poop!
Whether SUV, compact or coupe,
You're in, with the rest of your group,
A tin box proceeding
At speeds far exceeding
What nature intended. Poop! Poop!
If those landings were all just a mock-up
Filmed grainily in Aldrin's lockup
Then why've NASA peeps
Not made more “giant leaps”
In the last fifty years? What a cock-up.
Not the first XKCD comic to call to mind Sleeping Satellite. Ah, Tasmin Archer.
There once was a man from Muscaturday
Who wished every day could be Saturday.
Then his boiler broke bummer!
He needed a plumber
And they all charged him double. Oh, draturday.
If you get rung up by the past
You'd better pick up pretty fast.
Their phone dial will fail
To press one for voicemail.
(It's not just that they can't be arsed.)
From half-hearted email-scare clunkers
To tales of beasts eating spelunkers,
The way everyone copes
Is to check it on Snopes
But who will debunk the debunkers?
Eight planets? That notion is comical!
For (however uneconomical)
They've discovered a ton
That don't orbit our sun
And their number is, well, astronomical.
A few means between two and five;
Several's between two and five;
A handful can be
Two, five, four or, er, three
But a couple's two. (Or up to five.)
A sleazy pick-up guy from Welwyn
Said “This game’s no longer compellin’!
Put U next to I?
That’s pretty small fry
When I could reform ALL OF SPELLIN’!”
This new Swiftkey app's pretty neat
It picks phrases you often repeat.
It picks phrases you often
It picks phrases you often
It picks phrases you often repeat.
A patent clerk working in Bern
Left the whole world of science astern.
The result: a succession
Of clerks with depression
Cause they can’t do a similar turn.
Whether frat-boy, footballer or swot,
Your laundry will soon go to pot.
One day you stop folding,
The next, clothes a-moulding
All over the floor in the grot.
I passed through the mystical portal
And found shoes that would make me IMMORTAL.
But...I can't wear those!
They've got separate toes!
Normal people will see me and chortle.
As I walk to my door, looking cool (ish)
My thoughts tend to turn to the ghoulish.
I quicken my pace
Though there's never a trace
Of real danger. I look rather foolish.
I don't know whether you noticed, or whether it worked, but what I tried to do here was quicken the rhythm of the limerick through the third and fourth lines, before the abrupt halt in the fifth. To match the quickening pace in the graph, you see.
Kill Hitler? Ach ja, that sounds great,
But you need to attend to the date.
If you shoot Herr H deady
When the world has already
Had the war, then you're just a bit late.
I was at a political talk
Where the lecturer spoke in a squawk
And he seemed (here’s the thing)
To be left- AND right-wing
He must be a deficit hawk.
It's true, how time works is confusing
But any new way of your choosing
Would likely be much
Worse, or at least a touch;
And not really all that amusing.
My business plan's fiendishly clever
I get every Jan, Mo and Trevor
For free, to contribute
Then others distribute
So when do I come in? Er, never.
There was a fresh prince of Bel Air
Whose schemes drove his uncle Phil spare.
He also made tunes
And BOOM! shook the rooms
And he had really cool 90s hair.