Tuesday, April 16, 2019

THE ERROR OF YOUR TERROR (revisited)



BOMBS GO OFF. A bunch of people blown to bits. Everybody else terrified. Not a jolly time to be in Baghdad - especially if you tan well, tend to overdress, and look Iraqi. The Dalai Lama says war is already obsolete and every sane soul agrees. Except a cabal of well-connected fraternity bozos hell-bent on establishing a planetary empire founded on perpetual war.

We’re dealing with desperadoes heavily armed with WMDs. No blow too low for this mob. Human sacrifice is standard practice in their warlike cult. The end always justifies any means. If a “better” world calls for a drastic cull, unleash the radioactive weaponry, the earthquake and hurricane machines and laboratory-manufactured epidemics... three thousand casualties or three hundred thousand, what’s the difference? Collateral damage!

Those who wage war, whether by obvious or subtle means, are the true terrorists. After all, what is war if not a crude excuse to eliminate the perceived enemy by brute force. And since when did brute force ever accomplish anything constructive? The only effect of brute force is to intimidate, terrorize, abuse, disempower and enslave.

And the only real enemy is our own unacknowledged and unbefriended shadow selves. Just as the shadow aspect of greed is lack, the shadow side of militant self-righteousness is cruelty, intolerance, and fanaticism.

Fear is a very effective means of mass mind control. Fear as a primary response implanted in the hypothalamus to retard our evolution. My maternal great-grandfather carried a strong negative emotional charge, which passed down the genetic track to my late mother and one of my brothers. Both see the world as dangerous and hostile, and invest a great deal of energy on “security” – arming themselves against bacterial and viral attacks with a huge arsenal of prescription drugs; living within a self-created prison behind steel bars, high fencing, and heavy-duty padlocks; and never trusting strangers (thereby never admitting any fresh data into their stale belief systems).

But all the “security” in the world can’t keep out death when your life contract ends and doesn’t get renewed. My childhood friend, whom I hadn’t seen in over a decade, was viciously murdered in the sanctity of his own home along with his partner in July 2005. Apparently, a psychopath had been stalking them for some time and was driven by drug-induced demons to strike terror into what was once a quiet residential neighborhood. The London bombs went off a couple of days later, prompting me to revisit the origins of fear.

It all starts with the crude concept of “God” as an External Force to be feared, worshiped and appeased. We’ve all heard the phrase “God-fearing” touted as something positive. Well, any “god” that enjoys being feared is more demonic than deific. Where did this “God-fearing” implant come from?

If you travel far enough down your genetic timetrack, you will encounter a blind spot in your deep memory where the universal trauma of abduction and rape occurred. We were violated as a species before our awareness had sufficiently matured to be able transmute and heal the psychic shock. Who raped us? Some wicked “stepfather” creator god or gods whose cold-blooded DNA now flows in our veins (along with a whole stew of strange and familiar bloodlines)? Or maybe, as Gnostic shaman John Lamb Lash suggests, these Archontic ET intervention hypotheses were seeded into the collective psyche as false genetic memories. And the spindoctors are still at - only now these red-herring scenarios are called internet memes.

You can identify this aberrant gene or meme as the aspect of ourselves that is numb to our own feelings - that is incapable of empathy, knows no compassion, and is interested only in its own survival. It raped our planetary biosphere in a desperate attempt to stave off total extinction, caused by an irreversible loss of vital force after too many generations of cloning.

Biological reproduction was deemed too messy and unpredictable, so this criminal reptoid species opted to reinvent itself as a Master Race of Empire-Builders destined to rule over the holographic worlds as the All-Seeing Eye of the Illuminati (Tolkien depicted this as the Eye of Sauron and you can spot this symbol on the back of every dollar bill issued by the Federal Reserve). This bogus deity favors Intellect over Intuition, the Male Principle of Will over the Female Principle of Desire. It installed a corrupt male priesthood to serve as its human agents on Earth, preaching hellfire, brimstone, and planting the fear of God into our hearts (where only Love ought to dwell).

It staked a claim on the dissemination and interpretation of scriptures, labeling as “deviationist” all ideas that liberate rather than entrap. Call it the economics and politics of Monopoly: control the only bridge across the river Styx, set up tolls on every highway to Heaven. Patent everything, make everyone pay royalties and taxes, amass a vast fortune, gain even more power over others, and so the game goes on. When any of us refuses to play, the game is over... it’s as simple as that.

That’s why the “sheeple” must be kept in line through sheer terror. Serve them a daily diet of bad news and mediocrity, let paralysis set in, along with a sense of abject powerlessness – so they always vote in strong leaders to guide them to the Promised Land. Above all, make sure they never reclaim the authentic, primordial, sovereign power within the very atoms of their own cells...

Let eggheads write lengthy tomes about the “Colonized Self.” Let George Lucas churn out blockbusters about the “Evil Empire.” After so many generations of systematic conditioning, most folks are simply too chicken to ever break free of the insidious frequency fence. Here’s a clue for you: The Matrix is a fourth-dimensionally generated 3D illusion (very realistic special effects, folks die gruesome deaths and their bodies stink as they rot).

Speaking of chickens, a shaman colleague recently remarked: “If this Rooster Year transforms itself into a Phoenix, everybody on the planet resurrects and ascends.” So do it NOW, folks, free yourselves from fear conditioning... before another Year of the Dog arrives to find us still barking up the wrong tree.

[Originally published in the August 2005 issue of VIDA! First posted 8 January 2007, reposted 20 November 2017]

Sunday, April 14, 2019

REWARD AND PUNISHMENT IN THE FACEBOOK UNIVERSE

In recent years thousands of Facebook users have experienced being summarily blocked from posting for purportedly infringing something vaguely referenced as “Community Standards.” Initially the block is imposed for 24 hours. For second “offences” the block is extended to three days, then a week. Repeat offenders are blocked a whole month. I don’t know if anyone has ever been blocked for an entire year.

Terminal mammophobia, priggish hysteria induced by the mere sight of female nipples

Facebookers call this sinister form of cyberpunishment “Facebook Jail” and for those who have grown accustomed to the 24/7 flow of virtual chatter and armchair voyeurism that has made Facebook a virtual universe unto itself, being prevented from posting or even liking someone else’s post is an oddly traumatic experience.

Only the easily aroused qualify as
Community Standards enforcers
First, Facebook makes you feel connected to a vast planetary network of other humans, getting your daily dose of dopamine through likes and friendly comments... then, abruptly and without warning, it pulls the plug on you, disconnecting you from the virtual world you’ve grown accustomed to, leaving you mute, separated by an invisible wall, like a ghost.

In effect, being pounced upon by Facebook’s unbelievably prim and prudish censorbots is a painful reminder that we are ultimately powerless against monolithic algorithms generated by faceless, soulless but extremely well-paid nerds who, I wouldn’t be surprised, jerk off to glossy photos of Nurse Ratched (the personification of “community standards” in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest).

The acute sense of frustration, crushing injustice and ultimate futility reduces us to feeling like so many Winston Smith clones sipping on Victory Gin. It reminds us in no uncertain terms that Big Brother is Watching Us and there’s really nowhere to hide, no one to turn to.

Louise Fletcher as Nurse Ratched in Miloš Forman's 1975 film of Ken Kesey's
One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

And to rub salt into the psychological wound, there is no appeal to anyone or anything remotely human, even if you submit a request for a review of your punishment. Facebook remains inscrutably Faceless: a cold, impassive stone wall with no beginning and no end. It teases you into typing an explanation or protest into a tiny box on the screen… then disallows you from submitting it, because you have been blocked from posting. It’s the ultimate Catch-22 in Cyberspace. Whoever designed this cruel, tyrannical template must have read everything Franz Kafka ever wrote and then converted to radical Orwellianism.


Meanwhile, the corporate cyborgs at Facebook have been auctioning off our personal data to the highest bidder for years, turning two billion Facebook users into a data goldmine without our knowledge or permission. They are the criminals, not us. They are the ones who totally deserve to be put in jail – analog, not digital!



Antares Maitreya
14 April 2019

Friday, April 12, 2019

Israel's Most Kosher Export

BEHOLD... THE VOCA PEOPLE!



PURE HUMAN VOCALS. JUST A CAPELLA...

NO instruments...

NO sound effects...

Pure... Live...

The Voca People ~ The Best of Acapella

The Voca People is an Israeli touring group with an international audience that combines vocal sounds and a capella singing with a contemporary beat-box technique.

Artistic Director: Lior Kalfo
Musical Director: Shai Fishman
Producers: Revital & Lior Kalfo




[Originally posted 16 April 2009]

Thursday, April 11, 2019

BIRTHPLACE RECLAIMED! (reprise)




Freestyle dance music commissioned by Chandrabhanu (Bharatam Dance Company, Melbourne) in late 1992; world premiere in January 1993 @ PJ Civic Center. 

Composed, performed & produced by Antares & Friends 

Minah Angong (vocals); Sunetra Fernando (vocals, rebab & percussion); Rafique Rashid (sequencing, percussion, vocal effects, engineering & mixing); Tim Bremser (12-string guitar, drum programming, percussion, vocal effects & mixing); Antares (shepherd's flute, Balinese flutes, synthesizer, didgeridoo, percussion & vocal effects) 

Digitally remastered in September 2012 by Thomas Smorek

As the title suggests, this choreographic work attempts to chronicle the loss of innocence every individual and every community experiences when the spurious concept of "progress" encroaches and transforms the land into an eco-systemic and psycho-emotional hell. From Dreamtime to Machinetime; thence a period of spiritual confusion and intense questing, followed at last by not so much a return to an imaginary pristine past - but a reconciliation with present reality, wherein ancient and modern realities begin to ecstatically fuse, thereby generating a fresh creation.

Sometime towards the end of 1992 I was contacted by celebrated dancer-choreographer Ramli Ibrahim (founder & artistic director of Sutra Foundation) who asked if I was keen to take on a commission to produce 30 minutes of music for Chandrabhanu, a Melbourne-based master of the Bharatanatyam.

Of course I said yes and soon a meeting with Chandrabhanu was set up. He had in mind a freestyle contemporary choreographic work titled Birthplace Reclaimed which he wished to premiere at a dance festival hosted by Sutra at the PJ Civic Center in early 1993.

I immediately got to work on the music, visualizing a circle and 4 cardinal points - an ancient symbol for Mother Earth. 

As Chandrabhanu had only a limited budget, I was unable to rent a professional studio for the task. So I recruited Rafique Rashid as a musical conspirator and sound engineer. He was living in Kuala Kubu Bharu at the time in a shophouse and had a workable 4-track home studio. He called it Batorvilla Studio (inspired by Ulan Bator, the Mongolian capital after which he had named his comic-book alter ego).

At the time we had Tim Bremser - an Enochian magickian, visual artist & musician from Winnipeg, Canada - living at Magick River. Tim owned a 12-string guitar & a TEAC 4-track mixer-recorder which could be tandemed with Rafique's Akai 4-track. Sunetra Fernando, taking a break from her ethnomusicological research in gamelan, showed up one day & was promptly recruited.

Perlis-born Chandrabhanu arrived in Melbourne in 1971 to study social anthropology.

Minah Angong at the Sarawak Rainforest World Music 
Festival in August 1998
To explain what I had in mind, I drew a chart dividing the music into four movements: the first movement (Dreamtime) would depict an idyllic, edenic way of life, interrupted by the advent of industrialization (Machinetime, second movement). 

The third movement (Spacetime) would represent a period of confusion born of the conflict between inner and outer realities. Finally, a reconciliation of past and future, a fusion of tradition and innovation, paving the way for us to reclaim our birthplace.

Rafique and I had already experimented with dropping Minah Angong's cold voice on top of an instrumental work-in-progress. The result exceeded all expectations and augured the beginning of a rewarding musical collaboration called Akar Umbi.

A ceremonial singer from the indigenous Temuan tribe, Minah Angong had been taught the song "Burung Meniyun" by her late husband, the headman of Gerachi Village. It felt so right that we should incorporate the indigenous soul into Birthplace Reclaimed.

We had to record at night because Batorvilla Studio wasn't soundproofed. The traffic noise was too intrusive during the daylight hours. Sunetra was learning to play the rebab, a two-stringed violin introduced to Southeast Asia by the Arabs. It sounded great passed through a guitar effects box. Getting the mix right was crazy work, with both Rafique and Tim handling the crossfades and controlling levels with both hands on two different 4-track decks.

When Chandrabhanu heard the fruits of our nocturnal labors, he instantly liked it. Then he asked if Minah Angong would be able to sing "Burung Meniyun" live on stage. She had never performed on any stage, as far as I knew, but we decided to give it a go. Rafique would produce two versions of the music - one with Minah's voice mixed in; the other without, so it could be used as a minus-one for her live vocal. We took Minah to the technical rehearsal and put her to the test. She passed with flying colors (after a false start owing to nervousness) and wowed the packed hall on opening night.

Minah Angong with Antares & Chandrabanu (costumed as a shaman).


[First posted 18 December 2014, reposted 8 July 2018]


Monday, April 8, 2019

Bob McCluskey's virtual conversation with God (reprise)


Bob said...

Are there ideas about the nature of God that are true and others that are untrue?

If I believe something about the nature of God that is untrue, can I get close to God?

Is truth the same for everyone?

Why is truth above every religion?

September 14, 2010 at 6:25 PM

God said...

Hi there, Bob! Nice of you to drop by and leave a comment. My feisty pal Lily has asked me to help her respond to your questions. Hard to say no to someone as delightful, so here goes...

Ideas about the nature of God... some true, some untrue? Well, ideas is all most of us have about the nature of God - and the word "God" itself is pretty loaded with all sorts of false notions (that God is male, has an only begotten son, disapproves of human sexuality, hates alcohol, spurns the flesh of pigs, the list goes on...). Let's say that some ideas about God resonate on many levels - from the cellular to the cosmic - while others are just plain ridiculous. It's really a question of maturity. When a 2-year-old says something silly, a sensible adult response would be to laugh with the kid, not at the kid. However, when it comes to institutionalized religion, we often find rabid septuagenarians ranting and raving in an utterly stupid manner - and because they have Ayatollah/Cardinal powers and can order your head chopped off or worse, people tend to keep quiet and avoid arguing with them.

The good news is: even if you believe the most preposterous things about God, it doesn't disqualify you from being as lovable as anyone else in the eyes of God. How so? Simply because God isn't caught up in semantics and exists not just as a bunch of ideas - but, indeed, as the nuclear intelligence within every atom and also as the totality of all existence itself. Whatever anyone thinks of God... God is most certainly never petty.

Is the truth the same for everyone? Definitely not! Our human apprehension of "truth" constantly evolves as we acquire experience and expand our vocabulary. A 9-year-old girl would look upon truth quite differently than a 90-year-old great-grandpa. And we're still talking about the realm of human experience and understanding - what about non-human consciousness? It's not healthy to get addicted to anthropocentrism when dealing with the nature of God. 

The Original and Ultimate Essence of Being caters to amoebae as well as nebulae - elemental, mineral, vegetable, animal, human, angelic, archangelic, deific and so on - it's All-Inclusive and All-Embracing.

Truth is just another way of valuing one's Integrity. Only those with a wholesome attitude can know the Whole and be mindful of being an integral aspect of the All-in-One and the One-in-All. As you achieve Integrity or become an Integer (instead of a Cipher) you will experience Existence as a holographic construct, and your Core Self as a perfect fractal of God. Celebrate that!

September 16, 2010 at 2:02 AM

Bob McCluskey said...

Thanks for your thorough response! Perhaps I could continue the thread of one point, because I didn't make my question clear. When I asked whether the truth is the same for everyone, I didn't mean to ask whether everyone has the same perspective on truth, but whether what is "true" for one person is true for all other people, as well.

Leaving aside the issue of natural law for now, I'll limit my question specifically to moral truth. Let's assume, for example, that it is wrong for me to dishonor my parents, whatever that means. May I assume, then, that it is wrong for everyone to dishonor his/her parents? Thanks!

September 16, 2010 at 6:57 PM

God's Secretary said...

You're a fine gentleman, Bob McCluskey. And you're doing a great job of blending faith with reason. You asked whether what is "true" for one person is true for all other people, as well...

Using the example you gave: first, it may not be true that you are "wrong" to "dishonor" your parents. In what way "dishonor"? Being unappreciative of and withholding love from them? Giving up on them and severing ties? Being rude and mean to them? 

Such behavior is certainly most unpleasant and actually unnecessary. Whether or not it's "wrong" depends on what the parents have done to trigger such a reaction in their child. A violent, emotionally unstable father or a nagging, domineering mother can drive a child to despair and deep resentment.

In effect, if you can't be sure whether what you believe to be true, is true - how can it hold true for everybody else?

Let's not miss the forest for the trees!

September 18, 2010 at 3:39 AM

[Source: http://www.seniorsaloud.com/2010/09/what-is-best-religion.html]



[First posted 26 November 2014]

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

Where have all the Flowers gone? They came to pay homage to Rachel! (repost)



Multi-talented instrumentalist and composer Rachel Flowers was born on December 21, 1993. Arriving 15 weeks premature, she lost her eyesight as an infant due to Retinopathy of Prematurity (ROP).

When Rachel was two years old, in order to discourage her from banging on their ancient piano with her toys, Rachel's mother showed her how to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Rachel picked it up immediately, and was soon working out for herself every song she heard.



At the age of four Rachel became a student of the Southern California Conservatory of Music studying primarily with Richard Taesch, Grant Horrocks, and David Pinto. Along with her study of piano and music fundamentals, it was at SCCM that Rachel learned Braille Music Code and adaptive computer music applications. This is also where Rachel met her flute teacher, Toby Caplan-Stonefield.



Rachel spent her school years playing flute in her middle school and high school bands, playing piano with The RPM Jazz Trio, and performing in a variety of music festivals and competitions. She brought home multiple ribbons, certificates, and awards as both a classical flutist and jazz pianist, and ended her high school career by receiving both the John Phillip Souza Band Award, and the Marine Corps Semper Fidelis Award for excellence in musicianship.



Rachel is perhaps best known for her YouTube videos featuring her interpretations of the compositions of Emerson Lake and Palmer, performed as a solo artist on the piano and on the organ.



At present Rachel is in the process of composing the original material which will form the basis of her musical career. Rachel's music is informed by her extensive musical background, with jazz, classical, and progressive rock music all playing a part in helping Rachel to forge a style that is uniquely her own.



Brief bio of Rachel Flowers from her website.

More recent recordings from Rachel Flowers at her SoundCloud page

Docufeature on Rachel Flowers

[Thanks to Solo Goodspeed for the heads up on Rachel! First posted 21 October 2014]





Sunday, March 31, 2019

All The Best Limericks Are Lewd (revisited)

Abraham was a wily old Jew
Who kept company with the Chosen Few
By forswearing sin
And his own foreskin
He proceeded the whole world to screw



It was a limerick that got me my first job as a junior copywriter. I had just turned 20 and was living with my parents in the house where I was born. I knew it was time to leave the family nest and learn to stand on my own feet - so when a friend mentioned that an ad agency in KL was looking for new blood, I immediately wrote to them. A few days later I received a test in the mail and was asked to compose a limerick; then write a news report about it, followed by an editorial. This was the limerick I came up with (of course I had to keep it clean):

A grand gourmand named Gus
Decided to devour a bus
But as he began to chew
He said, "Oh no, this won't do,
The passengers are making a fuss!"



Needless to say I got the job and soon found myself turning into a professional wordsmith, churning out readable text by the column inch. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't cut out to be a hack. Within 18 months I quit, after winning $5,000 in a slogan writing competition for Hall's cough drops, and began a checkered career as a freelancer and creative consultant. I continued to compose the occasional limerick - but somehow they were never quite lewd enough...



A fair mädchen was having her lüncheon
In a very chic cafe in München
Well, I got bold and told her
That I wanted to hold her
"Ja ja," she said and we got engaged pretty sünchen

As clean limericks go, this one ranks as an all-time winner (unfortunately I didn't write it and I don't know who did): 

A wonderful bird is the pelican;
His beak can hold more than his belican.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week,
Though I’m damned if I know how the helican!

But enough of clean limericks! Bring on the best and lewdest ones I have collected over the years. I must mention here that some of the dirtiest limericks ever written came from Isaac Asimov, acclaimed writer of sciencefiction novels. Here are a couple I like:

Said an ovum one night to a sperm,
"You're a very attractive young germ.
Come join me, my sweet,
Let our nuclei meet
And in nine months we'll both come to term."

------------------------------


"We refuse," said two men from Australia,
"Bestiality this saturnalia.
For now, we bethink us,
The ornithorhynchus
Is our down-under type of Mammalia."

And I have a gut feeling we owe this classic to Asimov:

The astronomer's crime was heinous:
"We mustn't let convention restrain us;
Though I've made a career
Out of Venus, my dear,
I'm tempted to switch to Uranus."


Let's open the floodgates of debauchery and prurience, shall we? But first, a limerick defining what limericks are really about...

The Limerick's furtive and mean, 
To be kept under close quarantine, 
Or she'll sneak to the slums, 
Where she promptly becomes 
Disorderly, drunk and obscene!

It's almost impossible to trace limericks back to their source. The memorable ones tend to get circulated and recirculated over time till they end up attributed to Anonymous (presumably an obscure Greek lyricist). Here's the rest of my collection to date:

There once was a girl from Ealing,
Who said she had no sexual feeling.
Until a cynic named Boris,
Touched her clitoris,
And they’re still scraping her off the ceiling.

-----------------------------------------


There was a young fellow from Kent,
Whose prick was so long that it bent,
To save himself trouble,
He put it in double,
And instead of coming he went.

---------------------------------------



A lesbian girl from Khartoum
Took a gay young man up to her room. 
At the start of the night 
She said "Let's get this right. 
Who does what? And with which? And to whom?"


-----------------------------------------


There was an old bishop from Buckingham 
Who spoke of young girls and of fucking 'em 
But a bishop from Wales 
Took the wind from his sails 
When he spoke of young boys and of sucking 'em







From the crypt of the Church of St. Giles 
Came a scream that carried for miles 
Said the Vicar, "Good Gracious, 
Has Brother Ignatius 
Forgotten the Bishop has piles?"

-----------------------------------------


There once was a man from Peru 
Who fell asleep in his canoe 
As he dreamt of Venus 
he played with his penis 
And woke up with a handful of goo.

---------------------------------------------


There was a young woman from Yale 
Who offered her body for sale 
For the sake of the blind 
She had her behind 
Tattooed with her prices in Braille

--------------------------------------------



There was a young fellow from Leeds,
Who swallowed a package of seeds.
Great tufts of grass,
Sprouted out of his ass,
And his balls were all covered with weeds.


-------------------------------------------


There was a young man from Lynn,
Whose prick was the size of a pin.
Said his girl with a laugh,
As she fondled his staff,
“This won’t be much of a sin.”


---------------------------------------------


There was a young lady from Maine,
Who enjoyed copulating on a train.
Not once, I maintain,
But again and again,
And again and again and again.


------------------------------------------


There was a young actress from Crewe, 
Who remarked as the vicar withdrew, 
The Bishop was quicker 
and thicker and slicker, 
And two inches longer than you.

-------------------------------------------------

There was a young plumber from Lee 
who was plumbing his girl with great glee, 
she said,  "Stop your plumbing, 
I think someone's coming..." 
Said the plumber, still plumbing, "It's me!"

-------------------------------------------------

A kinky young girl from Coleshill, 
Tried a dynamite stick for a thrill, 
They found her vagina 
in North Carolina, 
and bits of her tits in Brazil.

-------------------------------------------------

There was a young man from Pitlocherie, 
making love to his girl in the rockery, 
she said, "Look you've cum 
all over my bum, 
This isn't a shag, it's a mockery."

-------------------------------------------------

There was a young lassie from Morton, 
who had one long tit and one short'un, 
on top of all that 
a great hairy twat, 
and a fart like a six fifty Norton.

----------------------------------------

There was a young man from Harrow 
who had one as big as a marrow. 
He said to his tart, 
"Try this for a start. 
My balls are outside on a barrow."

------------------------------------

There was a young girl from Hitchin, 
who was scratching her crotch in the kitchen. 
Her mother said "Rose, 
It's crabs, I suppose." 
She said "Bollocks, get on with your stitchin'."

-----------------------------------------

There was a young girl from Devizes, 
who had tits of different sizes. 
One was quite small, 
almost nothing at all, 
But the other was big and won prizes.

--------------------------------------

There once was a young man from Brighton,
Who said to a young lass, “You’re a tight’un!”
She said, “Listen, Hon,
You’re in the wrong one.
There’s plenty of room in the right one.”

------------------------------------

A lady while dining at Crewe,
Found an elephant’s dong in her stew,
Said the waiter, “Don’t shout,
Or wave it about,
Or the others will all want one too!”

--------------------------------------

There was a young woman of Croft,
Who played with herself in a loft,
Having reasoned that candles,
Could never cause scandals,
Besides which they did not go soft.

----------------------------------------

There was a young woman named Sally, 
who loved an occasional dally, 
she sat on the lap
of a well endowed chap, 
Crying, "Gee, Dick, you're right up my alley!"

----------------------------------

There was a young gaucho named Bruno 
Who said "If there is one thing I do know, 
A woman is fine, 
a donkey divine, 
But the llama is numero uno."

---------------------------------------

There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose schlong was so long he could sucket
He said with a grin
Wiping spunk off his chin
"If my ear were a cunt I could fucket!"



Nantucket seems to have inspired more than its fair share of limericks, not all of them lewd - but they do merit a passing mention, if only for their literary value:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.

This soon spawned a sequel...

But he followed the pair to Pawtucket,
The man and the girl with the bucket;
And he said to the man,
He was welcome to Nan,
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.

What better way to end this post than with a mathematical limerick composed by Leigh Mercer (1893-1977) who came up with this poetic equation:

Translated into plain English it reads:

A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.


[First posted 26 April 2017, reposted 18 September 2018]