Definitely Limericks by Rory Ewins

He-Hh

An American family’s healthiness
Is funded by copious wealthiness,
Or by the procurance
Of stellar insurance,
Or meth-cooking, drug deals and stealthiness.

The Heart of Midlothian sits
In the middle of Edinburgh. It’s
Where a credulous tourist
Or Edinburgh purist
Or desperate Hearts-lover spits.

The Heart of Midlothian, a mosaic embedded in the cobblestones of the Royal Mile outside St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, is all that remains of the city’s second Old Tolbooth (a civic building housing a notorious prison) built in 1561 and demolished in 1817. Local passers-by spit on it for luck, a tradition thought to originate in showing disdain for the conditions suffered by prisoners within the original building. Tourists are told that taking part will ensure their return to Edinburgh.

The Heart became the inspiration for, symbol of and namesake of the Heart of Midlothian Football Club, formed in 1874. Hearts, also nicknamed the Jambos, the Jam Tarts and the Gorgie Boys, play at their home stadium of Tynecastle Park in the Gorgie area of the city, often against their arch-rivals Hibs.

The invasion? Our progress is slow.
The enemy’s stubborn, you know.
When we mobilize troops,
We discover that—oops—
They say, “Hell no, we’re not gonna go.”

Or in late 2022, «Ни за что, мы не собираемся идти.»

“Wanna catch some World Wrestlin’, man?” “Hell yeah!”
As I’m sure you can probably tell, yeah,
I dig a buff dude
Runnin’ round semi-nude.
(I like “Stone Cold” Steve Austin as well, yeah.)

The World Wrestling Entertainment (formerly World Wrestling Federation) wrestler “Stone Cold” Steve Austin popularized this phrase by chanting “Give me a hell yeah!” to his audiences.

He’s a he-man. He’s big and he’s strong.
He’s so muscly. His hair’s blond and long.
He’s a universe-master—
But in bed, a disaster,
On account of his minuscule dong.

A henroost is where every hen,
Fowl or chicken, again and again,
Goes to sleep until morn.
In the first light of dawn,
Rowdy roosters will roust ’em all then.

The study of herbs, often viewed
In a medical light, is one you’d
Find is dope an’ amazing.
Light up and get blazing—
You’ll dig some herbology, dude.

Hermitary: Cell of a hermit
(His room, as today one might term it);
The place in an abbey
He’d go to when crabby—
Old tales of mad hermits confirm it.

Food with sweetener always tastes neat,
And this high-fructose corn syrup’s sweeeet!
Sure, it keeps us all fat,
But hey, what’s wrong with that?
What competes with a sweet corny treat?

HFCS.

This silvery liquid, Hg,
Quickly poisons the fish in the sea.
We shouldn’t just settle
For keeping this metal
From drains: keep it arm’s length from me.

The fact we saw alchemists prizing
Hg has a way of disguising
Its value to science:
Weather forecasts’ reliance
On thermometers’ mercury rising.

One of the seven metals of alchemy, mercury (also called quicksilver or formerly hydrargyrum) has been known since ancient times. In modern science and medicine, mercury and its compounds have had applications in dental amalgams, vaccine preservatives and antiseptics, although their medical use is in decline owing to their extreme toxicity. For that same reason, most thermometers now use pigmented alcohol instead of mercury.

“Fa-la-la, bring me barrels of wine!
Snapped the minstrel, “And quickly, you swine!
I’ve a headache tonight.
Seven hogsheads of white
And 12 hhds of red should be fine.”

A hogshead (abbreviated hhd, plural hhds) is a large cask, usually of alcohol, of a specified volume that varied from 45 to 61 imperial gallons over time and for different beverages, eventually ending up at 52.5 imperial gallons for wine and 54 gallons of beer or ale (either imperial or the older, slightly larger English brewery cask gallons). A tobacco hogshead was even bigger, at least 120 imperial gallons in volume and 1000 pounds when fully packed. I’ll leave the metric conversions to beer, wine and whisky merchants.

Carol’s chauvinist pig husband, Darryl,
Had her lawyers right over a barrel:
“These hogsheads of wine
Ain’t that bitch’s, they’re mine!”
“I ain’t ‘that bitch’, you swine,” rejoined Carol.

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