Definitely Limericks: Bu-Bz

A beauty who’s covered in buboes
Attracts unsurprisingly few beaus.
“It’s the plague!” they will cry,
“The Black Death!”—which is why
She should cover each bubo with new bows.

Country A reckons lingerie teases.
Country C says a swimsuit’s what pleases.
Between them, one neutral
Remains birthday-suit-ral:
Country B, as their buffer, appeases.

“And now, my good sirs, the salon
Calls us forth: let us hence, whereupon
We shall sit with none other
Than Karen’s dear mother...”
“Strewth, mate, you’re bungin’ it on.”

The trouble with things bureaucratic
Is how one encounters a static
Response to requests:
A reliable test’s
When the refund you’re owed is dramatic.

I’ve been burning down houses without
Any breaks for a fortnight, about,
And I’ve started to keep
Seeing flames in my sleep—
Truth to tell, I’ve been feeling burnt-out.

Any Aussie fears bushfires most.
All your worldly possessions are toast
When the air is all red
And your neighbours have fled.
And the town you once cherished? A ghost.

Who’s the best sorta bushranger? Well, ’e
Should have a good story to tell: ’e
Should start out a farmer,
Go stealing in armour,
Then stoush the police—like Ned Kelly.

“I’ve invited you here on the hunch
That you’re all a competitive bunch.
There’s a lot on the table,
So let’s, now we’re able,
Get straight down to business.” Munch, munch.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
On an omnibus. Once you’re inside,
Find a comfortable seat,
But don’t put up your feet:
That’s just one of the pleasures denied.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
Next to strangers. That cutie you’ve eyed,
You should let sit down first
(“After you, miss!”). At worst,
She may call you a pig, but you tried.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
With the pensioners, sitting beside
An old lady whose hair
Is rinsed purple. Yes, they’re
The ones waiting for heaven who’ve dyed.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
Amongst teenagers failing to hide
Their contempt for the rules
As they head for their schools:
Tell ’em “keep down the noise”, they’ll be snide.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
With young children, who once they have cried
Out “The Wheels on the Bus”
About twenty times plus
Will be leaving you wishing you’d died.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
With that worker who failed to abide
By the drink-driving laws,
And who’s bussing because
He’s too pissed to walk in if he tried.

A bus ticket gets you a ride
With the public, whose transport’s supplied
By a fleet of tin cans
Run to dubious plans:
When they all come at once, you should hide.

This castle of mine’s buy-to-let,
Thanks to giveaway mortgages—yet
As the rentals are small
For a fortified wall,
It’s a purchase I’ve come to regret.

In a limited missile exchange,
You’ll notice behaviour that’s strange:
Politicians will run
Once the firing’s begun—
Why, they’re soon beyond visual range.

BVR usually refers to air combat.

Your single’s a hit—it’s a snap!
Every place that it plays, toes will tap.
That wasn’t sarcastic—
The A-side’s fantastic.
A shame it’s been backed with such crap.

Number One Smash b/w Pile of B-Side, out now on Production Line Records!

If a lump’s on the end of your prong,
BXO may be what could be wrong.
Balanitis xerotica
Obliterans: not a ca-
thartic result, but be strong!

BXO is a condition affecting the end of the penis, especially in uncircumcised men. A hard white lump develops in delicate skin, usually around the urethra, which can lead to difficulty passing urine, soreness and itching, and sometimes ulceration or cancer. Chin up, old boy!

By the byway, the bystanders spy
A white bicycle, bicycling by,
While beside the guy’s bike,
Riding high on a trike,
Is his spry thigh-high by-product, Ty.

Well, the reindeer are waiting to fly...
Ho ho ho, little darling, don’t cry.
So, goodbye—I should leave.
See you next Christmas Eve.
Please let go of my sleeve, dear. Bye-bye.

BYO? If you’re stuck in that zone
And you fancy a tipple, don’t moan:
Just go somewhere they’ll flog
You a bottle of grog,
And return. Got no plonk? Bring your own.

Here’s the buzz on Belize—the bee’s knees!
Trouble finding it? Please, it’s a breeze:
Guatemala’s southwest.
That’s on land, as you guessed—
Here in Web-land, the key’s the bz’s.

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