Happy St. Patrick's Day/1st Slayer's Birthday!
Thank you to everyone who entered. I'm sure many would agree no celebration is complete without poetry. Oh, another odd coincidence: on the 1st Slayer's Birthday not only is much beer consumed, but the colour of River Dugan is also changed. Of course they make it red instead of green, and use the blood of roaches instead of dye; but still, it makes you think.
Below are all the entries. I'm not leaving out any for "
style."
One: who am I to say? And two: many limericks intentionally break the rules to get across a point. The beat is more important than rhyming or where the lines break. As usual, vote 10 for your own entry. (Thanks Briareos!)
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There once was a lively young Slayer
Whose hairs went steadily grayer
To his distress
The cause was just stress
At not catching Beethro the player.
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A scripting engine fantastic
powerful, easy, elastic
no idiotic things,
no ponging no pings
not something worth low quality plastic
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There once was a delver named Micheal
who desperately sought to recycle
but was too freaking lazy
and felt way too hazy
so died by a roach and restarted the cycle
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There was once an addicted DROD player
Who consistently made it his prayer
But his hard disk got wiped,
And he constantly griped
About how he would re-kill the slayer.
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There once was this messed up Slayer,
who'd been pasted into a layer
where he didn't belong
everything was all wrong
so he kept on taunting the player.
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There once was a stalwart from Tueno
Who laughed when his buddy quaffed Draino.
But this was a duel
And he was no fool
So, drinking, said "
Bring on the pain-o!"
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It strikes dread in the hearts of cruel lords,
To say naught of the tar and roach hordes.
But it's the dames, so I hear,
Who shout loudest in fear
When ol' Beethro unsheathes his Big Sword.
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Whenever a Stalwart approaches
A ravening onslaught of roaches,
He bids them "
Good night!"
At the start of the fight--
In his native tongue, "
Buenos noches!"
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There's a toxic young Slayer named Bor
Whose limericks stop on line four
They build up the pace
And put things in place
...
There was a young Stalwart named Gee
Whose limericks stopped on line three.
Nobody knows why.
...
There once was a player named Lou
Whose limericks stopped on line two...
...
There was a young man from Verdun.
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There once was a rule which was broken,
The limerick as it was spoken.
Two words at a time, just
Maybe did rhyme. The verse
Caused cracks in the forum.
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There was a young man of Dungandy
Who ate eyeball pudding with brandy;
Now when he approaches
The smell kills the roaches;
Oh wouldn't being him be so handy?
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The eighth of the rhyme
Six halves at a time
One third of the seventh was mine
The fifth of the rest,
Three quarters the best
The eighth of the rhyme was mine
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From holds down where strange lights are glowin'
Fights long drawn out still keep on goin'
"
Mud's better by far,
Than silly blue tar!"
While 'round them the gel won't stop growin'.
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Said Beethro, "
The tale I must tell
Is of oozes that put me through hell.
You may find it bizarre,
But I tell you, by far
The worst of that stuff is the mud."
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The series of holds titled "
war"
will certainly make your head sore.
DROD's deterministic?
That's unrealistic
with mimics and scripting galore.
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Well that's all of 'em, so....
It’s time for the vote; to show what you think.
Impressed? Or did everything stink?
Appreciation
For inspiration
Can be shown by clicking this
link.
(Will I be glad to stop writing in rhyme. See, it takes up a lot of my time. If you only knew what it puts me through...
Please please, won't someone make it stop? ahh...)
[Last edited by noma at 03-17-2008 03:22 PM]
