A while back, Dale ran a whistle haiku contest in C&F which produced some great mini poems. Pretty creative bunch here. It occurs to me that perhaps a thread on whistle related limericks could be entertaining ( especially since some threads lately have been sorta dark ). I’ll start it off:
A young Jewish foot Doc from Troy,
Plays the whistle and tends to annoy,
His wife, so she takes them,
And smashes and breaks them,
Thus prompting our lad to cry “Oy!”
OK,OK, it’s not terrific, but it’s the best I can do at 6:30 AM. Bet y’all can do a lot better…
PS–Yes, it is about me, and I’m not all that young anymore, but “middle-aged” has too many syllables…
There was a new whistler named liz,
Who thought she’d turned into a whiz,
She tongued and she tooted,
Her friends they just hooted
And said “Is that all there is?”
Since I just looked up my Irish-ness in my genealogy record and discovered my ancestors in the 1600s were from County Limerick, it is only appropriate that I contribute:
There once was a gal named Sue
Who felt Irish through and through.
She played on the whistle as soft as a thistle,
And says “Happy St. Pat’s Day to you!”
(…oh, that’s really bad…sorry…)
Susan
There once was a whistler from Marfa
Who practiced one song til you’d barfa
Neighbors wished she’d delete
The song she’d repeat
So they strangled her with her own scarfa.
There once was a woman named Kari,
who couldn’t quit saying she was sorry,
She tried her hardest to memorize sheet music,
only for her mind to refuse it.
So she sits on her bed almost daily playing her whistle off of sheet music,
while her Honey Bunny’s mind doesn’t refuse it.
This, at times, makes her quite fuddled;
that her Honey Bunny doesn’t get muddled,
playing his whistle in the car,
whith the sheet music afar.
This makes her wish for pot holes in the road,
but quickly dismisses the notion,
cause her Honey bunny would then need a sort of potion;
for the owie in his mouth
would make him pout.
She loves her Honey Bunny more than her whistle,
so she dismisses the thought without a bristle.
There once was a girl named sam
who played a whistle as well as she can
she tooted and squeaked
till her mother’s annoyance peaked
and chased her around with a pan
An old Cape Cod whistler named Dave
Played his whistle alone in a cave
Till a session was found
Within his stomping ground
And his sanity it will now save
There once was a lassie named Moon
Who thought she could carry a tune
But when she reached for her whistle
The dog’s fur would bristle
And the cat quickly ran from the room
Oh my, Moonlight, does your cat run from the room too? As soon as I pick up my whistle the cat runs to the door and meows until I let him out. And I thought it would bother the dog! Anybody know why cats hate them?
Susan
There once was a blower of brass
Generations of the red-fippled class.
When told to go expensive
he looked rather pensive
and told them to kiss his foot!
P.S. - anyone ever see the movie “Private Eyes” (w/Tim Conway)?
A tooter who tooted the flute
Tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
“Is it harder to toot or
To tutor two tooters to toot?”
Sorry, it’s not mine. I heard it a long time ago and forgot how it went, but it was my wife who found it online. (She got lucky) Thank you, Mary. I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night. JP
There was a young whistler named Fred,
Who whistled his whistle in bed.
Said his wife, all awake,
If you don’t take a break
I’ll whack you alongside the head.
I speak of the whistler in question
who scoffed the suggestion of lessons
his tune was less on
an in tune was less in
but alas did not lessen the session.
There once was a whistler in Georgia
Whose playing would really have floored ya.
If y’all thought this was 'bout me
You’re wrong, hee hee hee…
My whistling would simply have bored ya!
,
Andrea ~*~
no rotting tomatoes please… fresh produce only!
