Drink Around the Poesy (come along, sing bawdy songs) Take Off Your Prose challenge results

This is my second rogue challenge thus far (more to come), and I’m delightfully surprised by the participation this suspicious platform newbie received.

With that said, some of you never spent any time under the bleachers or in appropriately sketchy dive bars, and it shows. Probably also fair to assume that you’ve never boarded a stranger’s boat or hopped into somebody’s limousine because it was there, much less had a kitchen menage a trois with a friend and her ex. I suppose beige works for some.

Here’s a small dose of Van Halen to help the medicine go down. If you need sugar, you’ll have to get Poison to pour it on you, but you’ll need to talk dirty to them first.

I’m not accusing anyone of a white wedding, but I smell gift registry presence in the room. I’ve bought my share of gravy boats and done the chicken dance in formalwear, and I know the jig, but I prefer a dirty bop, even if it means I have to pay for my drinks. I’d be lying if I said I understood this attachment to euphemisms or pretended to comprehend this lack of knowledge of what constitutes dirty, but I’ll pray for you (that’s the response I always get from puritans concerning complicated problems). However, accepting Jesus in your heart without also accepting and respecting Mary Magdalene won’t take you very far in shaking off your inhibitions. Nonetheless, I’ll pray. None of your business to whom.

On the other hand, many fully embraced the challenge, letting the filth fly like. . . well, you know (most of you). Profanity wasn’t strictly required, but as we all know, the bawdier the better. There was sufficient genitalia-rhyming, and much creativity. Some even followed my lead and got down, dirty, and flirty with taboos.

I call this the Temple of the Profane for a reason, and while I would never force anyone into an altar boy role, we could probably have a decent acolyte lock-in here at the temple, possibly even knock up the Fates in their sleeping bags after the chaperones fall prey to their caffeine crashes. Just remember that hand sanitizer is not lube, and holy water removes the worst stains.

Suddenly, it feels like time to honor the dishonorable with mentions. Must be last call.

Rain Dayze took no prisoners with the first entry submitted, putting good filth right smack in the first line. Well done— inhibitions have no role to play here

kp took no prisoners and jumped right in with this deliciously dirty little number that’s the stuff of MAGA nightmares. Well done, kp, perfect 2-3 punch, straight from the hip, gloves off, handwraps on.

Kelli had great enthusiasm and had all kinds of creatively filthy fun, entering several pieces with a similar theme. I believe she prefers a tube steak to a box lunch at the Y. Why didn’t I choose one of those to spotlight? Well, perhaps choosing one’s favorite cock limerick is as hard as choosing one’s favorite cock (sorry, South Carolina, Gamecocks are just too small). Instead, I’ve chosen one that lands in a different erogenous zone.

Burying this one in the middle. Dana, Dana, Dana: this is not a third-grade schoolyard. Limericks about asses need dicks, not kitsch. You’re invited to defend yourself in the comments, but if you have too many RSVPs for formal dinners to send, we understand. Maybe drink some whiskey from your gravy boat to reset yourself and join the misfit table. We don’t have place-cards here, so just grab a seat on a lap with some wood in it, and inspiration may find you.

Now sems like a good time for a Nine Inch Nails break.

Mikey, always a good sport and team player (no, not like that), joined the party with this one containing a theme that seems to dominate this challenge. Dick poems for all; they’re the driving force of the limerick form!

Julie surprised me. She writes a lot of positive, uplifting, do-gooder content, so I was skeptical. Shame on me. Julie appears to be one of those lady in the street types; her entry didn’t mince words, sexualities, or preferences, and her title was clever (though I’m a fan of inversion and have an irresistible urge to flip her title to Any Storm in a Port). Also bonus points for her choice of image; high marks for cohesion and keeping it sexy. My money says her sheets have seen some freaks.

Ah, who doesn’t want limericks from a Scotsman? Paul Stewart also decided that Kelli would not monopolize limericks about dicks and contributed a few of his own. Good friend that he is, he didn’t let Matthew miss the party on a technicality.

Why does Paul get links to two recycled limericks? Simple: he brought the funk, and there ain’t no funk like old funk, just ask George Clinton.

There were 18 entries total, and I hope everyone enjoyed the irreverence! While we’re all winners, a few were head and shoulders above the rest for different reasons:

Kelli got dirty and snarky.

Julie got dirty and flirty.

kp broke taboos.

These are the first three I would recite in the pub after a couple of pints. Let’s all raise a glass to everyone who played, a traditional Irish toast to go with the pseudo-Irish roast:

May the luck of the Irish

Lead to happiest heights

And the highway you travel

Be lined with green lights.

Wherever you go and whatever you do,

May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

Want to play some more? Check out my new rogue challenge!