I do hate St. Paddy's day. However...

                  As a warrior-poet, I rarely get the chance to fully embrace the complete essence of my calling in something as roundly satisfying as, say, The Squirrel Cage's Annual Dirty Limerick Contest. That said, this year, though I battled valiantly, round after bloody round, and made it all the way to being one of the very last two poets standing, it was unfortunately there that, to my great shame, I was "awarded" a measly second place, replete with its paltry $25 prize.

                  All that aside, for your St. Paddy's Day amusement, and because I haven't posted in quite a while, here are the four dirty limericks that I used to claw my way high above all but one of my unquestionably inferior opponents. Enjoy.

                  In Round One I claimed an easy victory, the mic in one hand and stretching open the front of my underwear with the other, as out of my pants I recited the following bawdy verse:

Here's a limerick I wrote on my dick
while erect so I've got to be quick
see it can't go too long
since the length of my schlong
won't permit me to... Yeah, it just ends right there.

                  Now, in Round Two, there were far fewer of us left, but I ended them all decisively with this little lyrical gem:

A dirty limerick is like a whore's taint:
a short distance that demands great restraint-
for though the vag is quick nice,
I find it quite worth the price,
to have a go on the side that it ain't.

                  By Round Three I have to admit that I was sort of struggling and, in fact, as I slowly walked up to the mic, I was still searching for a final line to finish this, clearly my weakest, poetic offering (although, by this point, it was already just she and I. Here, as you'll soon see, I think I may have slightly lost the crucial ladies vote):

Here's a limerick for all you young lovers
moaning madly beneath bumpy covers:
get all your kicks while you're young
with your pricks and your tongues
cause one day you'll be fucking someone's mother.

                  Perhaps it was out of regret for this slightly cheap shot against motherhood and the matronly, or perhaps I'm just an attention hog, but I interrupted the vote that should have ended the contest right then and there with a final challenge to go one more round (I can do this all day!) Although I feel I ended things on a very strong note, bar politics are sort of a fickle mistress (and I might add that half of my friends were apparently too drunk or too bored to realize when they were supposed to clap for me, but what can you do. Thanks a lot guys. Sheeesh.)

                  Anyway, I'll now leave you all with this one final dirty limerick:

On our journey to Killdarby Falls,
Dad and I spied some sheep by a wall.
I cried, "Let's run down and fuck one!"
but my father said, "Whoa, son!
If we walk down...
we can...

                  (mic drop) Sheepfucker OUT!

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