Sometimes you just have to put on your threadbare blazer and Elliot Gould ’70s lip crumpet, jump up on a table, and shout vulgar limericks. Because in doing so, what you’re expressing is true — and the truth these days is the ultimate act of transgression — creating in you an obligation to share it. (Begins about 1:50:45)
The political blogosphere has been my table. So it goes.
Of course, in the 80s, Miles Talby put it a different way in a colloquy to Joel Goodsen. But the point still stands…
Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin shouting vulgar limericks.
There once was a man from Scuppernong…
Amen.
I second that Amen with a fifth.
For those insisting, against all good judgment, for the rest of the limerick:
..who confessed to his wife he had done her wrong
So she went ballistic
And somewhat sadistic
But the good news is he didn’t suffer long.
Not as vulgar as the first line promised. So try this old chestnut instead.
I’ve just heard more news of poor Alice
(She of the dynamite phallus)
They found her left titty
Outside Rapid City
The other in downtown Corvallis.