In honor of St Patrick's Day the crew woke up, shook off their stupor and produced the most horrific set of limericks to insult the English language.

For a pretty poem, write a sonnet
Of fields, flowers and summer bonnets
A limerick you see
Is always meant to be
A work most crude and coarse and honest

 

There once was a Filka named faun
Oh wait, no I said that line wrong
Well who gives a fuck
'Cuz we've all got a cup
So let's drink and party till dawn!

Marcus Benjamin Danube

 

I died but did not go to Hell
As they said I had done very well
Which didn't make sense
For I'd built a big fence
On which all of my friends got impaled

Marcus Benjamin Danube

 

He's choking, give him a heimlichs- NAW!
He's faking! The crowd of people guffaw!
He does it all the time!
What?! Swallow a lime!?
Well, he's the man with the limerickshaw!

Sir. Inkswitch Blackwell

 

I'm not a mind-reader, you see?
Not sure if you're all fine with me.
Who's asking? Why-
It's that damned All-Reply!
Well, dude, just go with a blind CC.

Sir. Inkswitch Blackwell

 

My genes claim I hale from County Cork
On this day I can look down and snort
I am the true Irish
though as much as I wish
At days end I am still a big dork

Billy Joe Fish

 

In a pub I ran into a dude
At first he seemed a prick with a bad attitude
Then I found he was Irish
Which is kinda stylish
Considering that he's not too rude

Antares W. Smith

 

Lil' Marty McGunne, he was a bit flawed
Needing quick cash, he dressed like a broad
He played some hoods for fools
And got stomped in the jewels
That's right, son: 'pon his nuts they had trod

Tset

 

T'was once a gymnast of ballistics who trained hard,
but he wavered in doubt to Saint Barb.
In heretical tumult-
he regressed to catapult
and was hoist by his own leotard.

Sir. Inkswitch Blackwell

 

Happiness is a goal most thwarted
Fleeting and fey, so it's reported
Just give me a tottle
From a whiskey bottle
I will be happily most retarted

Billy Joe Fish

 

A bunch of dumb farts hit the keys
To try to string letters, it seems
They clacked and they missed
Typing with their fists
And produced all these limericks you read

Marcus Benjamin Danube