h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Abstention requires great skill.
You're tempted by each Tom and Will.
They ask you to write,
They tell of delight.
They even will celebrate swill.

I fear that my muse has run dry,
I'm ashamed, and I feel I should cry.
My limerick centre
Has lost it's placenta
I'll stick it back on (or I'll try).

(looks in brain) The mournful sound of a cracked Mission bell rings out in the far distance, black clouds scud across a tormented sky and tumbleweed barrels roll hither and yon in the skittish wind. Deep in the Cactus forest, a Mongoose farts.

A mongoose once farted a song.
It seemed convoluted and long.
It sounded like "Dixie"
As dreamed by a pixie,
Though I am most probably wrong.

Far away, in the clouds
The death knell tolled loud,
Announcing the end
Of our beloved friend
Which silenced the crowd

Silent crowds rarely applaud,
Not even when greeted by God.
Are they sacrilegious,
Or just superstitious?
Perhaps, but most likely just odd.

Whistle Dixie? Now that could be tricky,
Cactus diets can make things go sticky.
Not a sweet note was uttered,
The orifice spluttered...
The smell was decidedly icky.

A cactus I've known since a pup,
And came to my house oft to sup
Quite famous became,
With a brand marquis name,
Thought I thought he was just stuck up.

A wandering cactus! They're few,
There's been some I've known, one or two.
One I called Hannibal,
He was a cannibal;
Drank Tequila and said "I know you".

Of cacti I've heard a few tales.
There's one that once rode on the rails.
Conductors all feared him.
The passengers jeered him,
Though he looked quite spiffy in tails.

I've never heard of a wandering cactus, it's all lies, lies, lies...Aaagh!

There was a young fellow from Gwent,
Who's organ was terribly bent.
Every sexual act
Was a gymnastic pact
Every night in a big Circus tent.

With cocktails I used to converse.
They didn't need time to rehearse.
One said, "Don't you think
You've had too much to drink?"
I said, "It will get even worse!"

I've often heard, drinks make you talk,
Like a blethering, slobbering, dork.
But when drink talks to me,
It's plain, all can see.
That it's time that I went for a walk.

I took a long walk off a pier.
I had not been drinking, I fear.
'Twas dark. I got lost.
I was reading some Frost,
And then sank right up to me ear.

The cheese in Brent is delicious,
Especially with pickles and fishes.
The pies are good too,
As well as the stew,
And those who don't like them? Malicious!

A rash makes me look like a clown.
They're shunning me all over town.
I ask for a tonic,
They think I'm bubonic.
I can't even keep whiskey down.

Life can never be easy
Whenever I am feeling queasy
Without any doubt
I feel bottomed out.
To rise, I must eat something Greasy.

There was a young fellow from Crete,
Who's consumption of pies was complete.
In a downward direction,
Can't view his erection;
In fact he's lost sight of his feet.

Aside/ for the benefit of non-English, fat people are usually greeted with the chant "Who ate all the pies".

The banshees that live in our town
Wail so much you can't keep your food down,
Lamenting all night
When you'd rather sleep tight.
It's enough to make you want to drown!

A Circus clown, Billy MacFalls,
Fell for bearded lady, Ann Halls.
Put his hand up her skirt,
Then 'she' shouted "that hurt"
What he had was a handful of balls.

I sometimes don't get the punch line.
It's quite a bad habit of mine.
I catch just a rumor
Of some sort of humor,
But then it just rots on the vine.