Definitely Limericks: Ge-Gh

For your dinner this Christmas, I’ve heard
That the one that you want is the bird
Like a honking great duck.
Tell you more, you’re in luck—
We have multiples. Geese is the word.

If you’re hopelessly devoted to goose, you’ll already know that geese is the bird’s (word’s) plural, and not a popular Broadway and movie musical set in the 1950s (that would be Grease, featuring the hits “You’re the One That I Want”, “Summer Nights”—tell me more, tell me more—and “Hopelessly Devoted to You”).

The thought of a general election
Fills Remainers with abject dejection,
As Brexiteers glory
In thoughts of a Tory
Supremacy, free from correction.

When it was called on 18 April 2017, Theresa May’s snap election of 8 June was widely expected to increase the Conservative majority in the UK House of Commons and devastate a Labour opposition twenty points behind in the polls, giving the Tories carte blanche in Brexit negotiations.

Young Millennials crave each new app;
Aging Boomers would rather a nap;
While Gen X, in between—
Seldom heard, seldom seen—
Rules supreme in the generation gap.

Gen Xers are known for our sense of irony. (Here’s a reading of this limerick.)

These rundown apartments need paint,
But their period features are quaint.
If we gentrify one
By repairing it, none
Will object, because classy it ain’t.

I say, fellows—well you may scoff,
But because the man called me a toff
There can be little doubt of it:
When he shouted, “Get out of it!”
That ill-mannered oik meant “piss off”.

Avaricious, improvident glee
Fuelled a mortgage-repackaging spree
That the banks thought was great
Till ’07/’08:
Good clean fun till it meant GFC.

The global financial crisis of 2007–2008 triggered a Great Recession whose effects are still felt a decade later.

A Governor-General (GG)
Is a glorious figure to see
On a gee-gee: of course,
A GG on a horse
Isn’t common. I’ve seen only three.

Street culture pervades the libretto
Of my musical set in the ghetto;
There’s hip urban drumming,
And rapper gangs humming
The chorus of “Mack the Stiletto”.

I call it The Threepenny Hamilton Side Story.

The ghosts on an old TV set
Were just duplicate signals, and yet
I am sure there were those
Who immediately froze,
And cried, “Momma! It’s Auntie Annette!”

When she tried to be cooler (well, coolish),
Her dress-sense became, frankly, ghoulish:
Blood-red scarves, pitch-black shirts,
Skull-white make-up. It hurts
To see grandparents looking so foolish.

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