It’s the start of a new month, and you know what that means: Skepchick Contest Extravaganza!
The contest for this month is Skeptical Limericks. For example, you can make up any limerick about your favorite Skepchick (just so you know ahead of time, it’s hard coming up with things that rhyme with Rebecca :D), science topic, or science podcast/website/organization etc. You can also use the limericks to mock conspiracy theories, pseudo-science, Syliva Browne, or anything woo that gets your goat.
The contest will end on March 17th. Keeping with the theme for that day, the prize for the best limerick is a personalized signature cocktail recipe created by our very own Skepchick Elyse! For those who are under the legal drinking age, Elyse will create a personalized signatre non-alcoholic cocktail receipe.
As with the last contest, put your limericks in the comment section of this post. At the end of the contest run, we will post the all-time favorite winner!
I can’t wait to see what you come up with!
I'm so excited/frightened to see what comes of this! Also, note that I've added a "Contests" category…
You've caught me. I LOVE lyrical poetry, and combined with naughtiness, how can it fail? Here's a couple I wrote while at work.
In order from “Safe and tame/lame†to “funny and disturbedâ€
At last, the hot ‘chick-calendars’
received by skeptical amateurs
a brief, fleeting though
that science is HOT!
while also being chastity saboteurs.
My “anti-depressants do not workâ€
Said one placebo-obsessed jerk.
So I just sit around
without feelings profound
and my child-care duties I shirk.
Sylvia Browne is a quack
lower-intellects she likes to attack
She often tells lies
and makes many cry…
while cold-reading them, in the sack.
Dr. Meloy has ruined my life,
for I can no longer pleasure my wife.
For in her, a box
which gives g-spot shocks
and has caused my poor penor such strife.
I think about boys way too much
and I saw my ex-gay shrink about such
“wanking has made you gayâ€
the man did relay
While offering me a “healing touchâ€.
Can I keep going, or is there a limit to submissions? If so, the last one is my fave!
There once was a woman called Browne
A most hag-like, chain-smoking clown
Though she'd call you "honey"
She'd take all your money,
"Predict" bullshit and then skip town!
John Edward, you talk to the dead
And relay to us things that they've said
"I'm getting a 'G'
Or was that a 'D'?"
Or, maybe, it's all in your head
There is no limit to the submissions kevyjohny. Keep 'em coming! :D
Hate to do another John Edward limerick right after expatria, but…
John Edward claims to speak to the dead.
In so doing he brings in much bread.
He thinks he's a saint, but Matt and Trey knew he ain't.
So he was voted biggest douche in the universe instead.
Hovind, they said was a sage.
Who claimed creation in less than an age.
But "rend unto Caesar" gave him a seizure
And now he lives in a cage.
PS Free Dr. Dino!
/tongue firmly in cheek
You believe that 'It can't happen here',
So why do they rule us with fear?
Like a frog in a pot, we slowly get hot
until we all disappear.
A skepchick's hot sideways look
Makes my divining rod crave her moist nook.
Forget Dr Who
When it's me she could screw.
It's more fun than copywriting a book.
You don't need an orgasmatron
I'll treat you to a tasty Bon Bon.
You'll know a heavenly fate
As I levitate
And give you something to ride on.
Homeopathy's twisted and wrong.
It's practitioners sing you a song;
"Ridiculous dilution
is our magical solution"
If you trust them , you'll be dead before long!
There once was a blog for the scoffer.
(A drink by Elyse did it offer)
Created by Rebecca
It became quite a Mecca.
For anti-woo’ish opinions to proffer.
(Can't resist a ryhming challenge!)
Geller performs without any malice, see
But watch his hands he is really quite tricksy
It’s all slight of hand
but he’s in big demand
Perhaps he’s the biggest logical phallus-y
…or perhaps more straight forward…
Geller performs the same ole’ shtick
Just watch his hands to see the trick
It’s all slight of hand
but he’s in big demand
Seriously he’s just a big dick
…humorous and strict five-line form…
Can we have a Haiku contest sometime? (If not already done.) hehe.
OK, one more.
“Evolution ain’t right!†says the fundy.
Or, that’s what they preach every Sund’y.
“My uncle’s no monkey!â€
(“though he is kind of hunky…â€)
“Thank God!†say the chimps in Burundi.
There was a church service quite funky.
The preacher brayed like a donkey:
Don't be an atheist fool,
Always follow this divine rule
You may spank but never high hat your monkey.
Last night I had a strange dream.
Rebecca turned into ice cream!
Much tastier than aspic,
I took scrumptious lick after lick.
Quite a custardlingusy theme.
There once was a fraud named Van Praagh,
And another named Sylvia, that hag!
Both claimed Hornbeck dead,
"Found Alive!" headlines said,
Guess the spirits kept the cat in the bag…
“Evolution ain’t right!†says the fundy.
Or, that’s what they preach every Sund’y.
“My uncle’s no monkey!â€
(“though he is kind of hunky…â€)
“Thank God!†say the chimps in Burundi.
This might be my fave so far . . . clever rhyme and a very close scan!
Though obviously any limerick about me will get top consideration…
There was a young girl surnamed Watson
Who tooled around town in a Datsun.
Her chauffeur was a Chinp,
With a high hat, and a limp,
And played Vladimir to her Estragon.
There once was a man from Tejax,
Who could not come to climax
Scientology wise,
Increased 'is personal size,
And stabbed himself right in the thorax!
Sylvia Browne is so full of such crap
That if you gave her a big slap
her head would explode
and the stuff of commode
would cover you with a big "Thwaap!"
They said, "You can't rhyme with Rebecca!"
So I said to to myself, "What the hecka,
Think I'll give it a shot,"
Though a poet I'm not.
Just a suppressive Scientology wrecka.
There was a tiny Membracid
whose penis was always quite flaccid.
His mate said screw thee,
reproduced parthenogenically
and so became happily placid.
JOHNEA13-
You certainly have a thing for pairing Rebecca and desserts! How avant garde; most people just pair her with drinks.
and this:
There once was a fraud named Van Praagh,
And another named Sylvia, that hag!
Both claimed Hornbeck dead,
“Found Alive!†headlines said,
Guess the spirits kept the cat in the bag…
I love rhyming Praagh with hag!
It's not nice to make fun of a dope
When his faith is what gives him his hope.
He puts God in the trash
And he won't give us cash!
And that's BAD. Signed sincerely, the Pope.
One more, in honor of Rebecca's Amazing Meeting party…
There once was a skepchick named Rebecca
The Amazing Meeting in Las Vegas was her Mecca
She threw legendary parties
Attended largely by smarties
The next morning all anyone could say was “my head…uhhhh.â€
A skep chick by the name of Wat son
Sat on a booze filled orgasma tron
She said with a grin
as she sipped her gin
I may be smart but I sure have some fun.
A guy by the name N Oh Two
Didn't like the sky Oh so blue
So he let out a moan
Turned into Oh Oh Zone
So he could screw both me and you too.
This contest seems to have sent
The readers on a poetical bent
Now the skeptics are rhyming
With meter and timing
In the fashion that good lim'ricks are meant
So as a poster I'm wondering this
Can I join in the skeptical bliss
And add my own verse
To vie for the purse
Or am I doomed to the inelligible abyss
I once heard a tale that my friend
Was abducted by little green men
They probed up his ass
to obtain methane gas
On which their warp engines depend.
It's silly, but I must admit
The "facts" of his tale seem to fit
It's a matter of course
That my friend's a resource
Since he's full to his eyebrows with shit.
There once was a woman named Watson
Whose skepchicks were totally hot, son!
I think even Sam
Could make me say, "Damn!
Come take a ride in my Datsun!"
"dannyness // Mar 3, 2008 at 4:45 pm
I once heard a tale that my friend
Was abducted by little green men
They probed up his ass
to obtain methane gas
On which their warp engines depend"
Oh goodness that made me laugh so hard I snorted. well done.
Watson had Holmes for repartee and deduction
But Skep-chick Rebecca pines for seduction
Whether from fruity tropical drinks of rum,
Or a wickedly convoluted mathematical sum
But mostly men by philosophical reduction
I once saw a girl named Rebecca pull
A trick that was really impeccable
To build up a forum
With not just a quorum
Of Skepchicks, but a whole exchequer-full
With a divining rod Bob was rich and Handy
Those in need paid and proclaimed him Dandy
One day dousing for water he grabbed a hold of his dick
The crowd proclaimed Bob a fraud and a little bit sick
After a smart young lad knew to call the Amazing Randy
If Rebecca were a course I could eat ,
It'd be dessert because she's just oh so sweet.
Served a la carte
I'd eat every part
'cept those darned stinky feet.
[Just teasing, Just teasing! Oh well there goes any chance of me winning. Too late to substitute:
"I admire her great feat after feat" as the last line?]
Homeopathy's power's reputed
To be far past what can be computed.
What makes them so smart,
They practice this art?
Well, their minds are all highly diluted.
In Roswell, the aliens impacted,
Then gov'ment conspiracies enacted.
They lied; so uncouth.
But I know the truth!
FOR SAFETY THIS PUNCHLINE IS REDACTED.
"Don't high-hat the monkey," she said
While trying to mess with my head.
She says, "There's no god,
Theology's flawed.
Live this life and love it instead."
Rebecca's a skepchick sincere
And she has a mission most dear:
Spread critical thinking
Keep this world from sinking
'Neath piles of poor judgment and fear.
What attracts the testosterone lot
seems ubiquitous but it is not.
Face? Legs? Chest? Or behind?
I prefer a strong mind:
Skepchicks are totally hot.
—
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who on 'healing' spent many a ducat.
Of his costs, he would bawl
"Homoeopathy's small!"
A literal drop in the bucket.
—
A deluded researcher named Radin
Sees his bed as a place to get laid in.
"Hey, sweetheart, come round
to my psychic hound!"
Suddenly his appeal is fadin'.
My Million Dollar Challenge Claim
My paranormal abilities
Are my mad skill rhyming utilities
Each time I rhyme orange
with such words as door hinge
Jeff Wagg runs to use the facilities.
Abstinence is what some call plans
Babies easer than whipping up flans
Sooo, don’t go knocking
When the cars-a-rocking
Because teens think with their glands
There are merely a few days to go
For you skeptical rhymers to show
Your poetical chops
And to see who is tops
In this fabulous Lim'ricky show
And something new:
Slick pics of Skepchicks she picks through
Sexy shots, super hot, she must view
Raunchy or not
For a calendar spot
It's Rebecca's eye they must woo
Actually, make that "does view" for better compatibility with the last line. :)
Sorry, sorry, sorry! But I just realized parts don't scan right, and it's driving me crazy! For the last time…
Slick pics of Skepchicks she picks through
Sexy shots, super hot, she does view
Whether raunchy or not
For a calendar spot
It's Rebecca's eye entrants must woo
On Conspiracy Theorists…
There was a conspiracy nut
Who’s convictions confused him somewhat
Any which way he turned
A conspiracy burned
Thus he spun, with his head up his butt
The conspiracy nut had a friend
Who would ally with him till the end
An absurdity claimed
Would be sited and named
Room for two, derriere? (See a trend?)
Conspiracy lovers abound
Look for one – find a hundred around
G.I tracts are impacted
Not a head is extracted
Yet conspirators never are found
Anomalies are bread and butter
To conspiracy nuts and to other
Ghost-hunting kooks
Who claim they find spooks
In each bright spot they snap with a shutter
But anomaly hunters don’t care
About facts even if made aware
That the points they thought strong
Are just out-and-out wrong
“All the experts Big Brother ensnares!”
So when faced with a rabid baboon
Crying, “We never went to the moon!”
These hicks, dicks, and pricks
Evolution with fix
And it just cannot happen too soon!
I wrote that one afternoon a few months ago.
I once knew a Skep-chick from Nantucket
Whenever she spotted woo she’d pluck it
Proclaiming success with a grin
She poured a cold tonic-n-gin
Telling the cranks and believers to go…
A young woman called writerdd
Did believe in a big sky fairy.
She broke the illusion,
Escaping delusion,
And now helps us live skeptically.
There once was a hormonal young lad
Who thought ‘those skepchicks – they aren’t half bad!’
He caused Jesus to frown,
As he let himself down,
Viewing them rather scantily clad.
Since the challenge to rhyme with ‘Rebecca’ was given, that’s the rhyme scheme that popped up in my when I read this month’s task.
Once slurred by a girl named Rebecca
(far hipper than those in TriBeCa),
‘Be it pseudoscience or woo,
I say none of it’s true!’
And she chugged down some more Triple Sec-ah.
The alternate ending is ‘I don’t believe it, not even a speck-a,’ but limericks are supposed to be a bawdy, so I went for the liquor.
Wow, I came up with that same rhyme for Rebecca independently. So here goes:
There once was a gal named Rebecca
Who saw a strange sight in Tribeca:
A face in some burnt bread
Looked Christ-like — but she said
“If that’s Jesus, I’ll move to Mecca.â€
A guy named JOHNEA13
Wrote limericks always quite clean.
Great in the clinches
With his mighty 12 inches
What a sight to be seen.
[All-right , All-right since you all are a bunch of skeptics I’ll admit I’m lying ………….
my limericks are not always clean.]
A paranormal researcher named Radin
Had a pseudo-sci sandbox he played in
But now he’s peddling sweets
That what ails you, they’ll treat
And his reputation soon will be fadin’
Since we share an astrological sign
I’m sure Rebecca won’t mind
When we turn over the rock
Of the credulous flock
All the fascinating critters we find
Is autism spread by vaccines?
Merc militia calls in the marines
but what show up is flakes
spouting logic mistakes
A tragic delusion is now *making the scene*
A skeptic society card he was carryin’
But when courting a slutty young librarian
He became quite depressed
When she tearfully confessed
She’d was dumping him for a rastafarian
In honor/dishonor of St. Paddy’s Day…
’twas once an old quack from kilkenny
who’d tell stale old tales for a penny
of a green ufo and a slimy green foe
but after you’d paid there weren’t any
I know, I know. No autographs please…
Redo for the sake of meter …
Watson had Holmes for deduction
But Rebecca desires seduction
Whether from rum,
Or a mathematical sum
But usually men by reduction.