There once was a man from Regina,
who shat on his wife's vagina,
he said to the dog
as she pulled out the log
is my turd a dick?
Well, kinda.

This being my first ever limerick,
I started by pinching a dung brick.
I took off my shoe,
inserted the poo,
and mailed it to Dumpster the shitwit.

I'd just moved into a new dorm.
I felt a poop starting to form.
I ran out the door
dropped my pants to the floor
and took a big poo full of corn.

_______
Practicing the ancient Chinese art of double flushing... because sometimes, a single flush just isn't enough.

Having gotten past limerick el uno (see above),
I repaired to the backyard posthaste-o (time to shove),
where there in nature’s throne,
I unleashed with a moan,
a turd a la Henry Thoreau (a Shameless dove).

Once I had to leave a deuce,
But my sphincter was tight as a noose.
For the fear there was corn,
my bunghole would be torn.
But Taco Bell turned it into juice.

Now my thoughts ran a bit grandiose,
in search of the ideal adiós.
To hit the limerick hat trick,
I backed up to a tree where I real quick,
let loose mi tercer número dos.

The urge suddenly struck me today
When to the heavens I pray:
Ah, in the Burger King
I would make my soon purged colon sing,
Where else could I have it my way?

They vary in size and in shape,
These turds that do make my ass gape.
Some oozy, some solid,
Some wipe clean, some are squalid,
Some toot as they make their escape.

There once was a tight ringpiece,
The man was a little obese,
The turds were dead wrong,
For they were too long,
But they were a masterpiece.

The man made a cry in pain,
But not for the lack of his strain,
As his ring was split,
And he had to submit,
To pain that hit his arse terrain.

The man had a look in the bog,
To admire his brand new log,
But what he saw,
Just left him in awe,
And left him beggin for more.

Although his ring was in tatter,
He thought 'Does it really matter?'
As blood covered the bowl,
Skin about to fall,
But what came next made a splatter.

For what had he eaten before,
For the bog had become a chore,
Screaming in pain,
He was never the same,
Spicy things he ate no-more.

There seem to be a lot of "there once was..." But what the hell:

There once was a man who laid logs
He always clogged his bog
He took some Pepto-Bis
Said, "I know what the problem is!"
And always drank plenty of grog.

Now this same man
always used his hand
for cleanups of his ass
He thought it very crass
So he now uses a paper fan

YEs I know they suck, but id made them up in 3 minutes.

_______
"KOC -- the Cool Crapper" - Rat Droppings

Once from a hole that's down under,
I heard a great roar and a thunder.
The smell was so rancid
That flies started dancin',
And polecats just stood there in wonder.

Our friend Benedict XVI
Must delight in a really good stink.
What's behind that big smile
Is a really wide aisle
To the "Throne of St. Peter," I think.

High on my horse in all my glamour,
I felt a tingle in such a manner,
Like the crawling of ants,
I felt in my pants,
a gift from the great Brown Hammer.

The cock of a Poopster named Prick,
Was so very, incredibly, thick,
That when he sat down
To make Mr. Brown,
It stopped up the bowl, ultra-quick.

I know one George Eliot Butterz,
Whose asshole both stammers and stutters,
But once in awhile
He writes something with style,
Which gives me the sphincteral flutters!

(OOoohh, I can't wait for Eliot's posts. I will cheerfully take the...

WAIT A MINUTE!! Dave--On a PR contest, doesn't First Place go to BRONZE??)

I needed to do #2
& my : I aimed @ the loo.
I’d give it a $
To go on and swallow
A % of my stinky butt goo!

I picked up a girl, with my luck,
Whose speech was a stuttering muck;
But who, nothing daunted,
Asked if I wanted
To fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-fu-fuck.

(I know, I know--that one ain't exactly poop-related, but I am past helping myself at this point.)

There once was a guy named Logjam
Who was having a rectal exam.
When the nurse asked, "what song
Would help this along?"
"Twist and Shout," he replied, "thank you, ma'am."

After ten pints of ale that I swilled
A pressure wave started to build
At the end of the day
My sphincter gave way
Till both of my seaboots were filled

This limerick is in honor of Fart Poopie's mom, whose wonderful story was in the newsletter I received today:

If you're stuck with a poop that won't come,
Scarf some beans and a big swig of rum;
But make sure while you sup,
That the toilet lid's up,
Or you'll smear all that poo on your bum!

I'm feeling it growing inside
I got the runs, no where to hide
I'm giving it a squeeze
I'm spraying the Febreze
Big relief as it makes the slide

_______
:@)
www.hogwild.net
semi-hilarious comedy

I can't stop now:
___

Not everyone thinks it is right
To speak about, nay, take delight
in a subject so crass,
It comes out of your ass
Any time that it likes, day or night
___

Oh No! Now my sphincter is veinous
And the pain of my piles is quite heinous
It feels as if Mars
Has come out through my arse
Just like Jupiter Saturn Uranus
___

Damn! I don't want to be left out! *Grrr* *Aarghh* *Pounds head in frustration* Okay:

Once when I tried to go out
I had to turn right about
And go sit down
To poop out some brown;
Alas! The t.p. was out!

That's all I got.

_______
Santa Caca!

I once ate a dish from Japan,
There was no tp so I used my hand,
I crapped like a demon,
Scratched by a peanut and screamin
Smeared it on the wall and I ran

There once was a girl from New York
Who pooped out a whole loin of pork
Oh my, what a log!
Had the face of a hog!
In his paw he was holding a fork.

Said: I may be a pig made of shite
But I'm dying to take a big bite
He began to self-eat
From his own head to his feet
Farted loudly and called it a night.

Aaaahhhh...nothing like a little poetry to draw a girl back where she belongs.

There once was a man with the runs,
Whose butt juice did splatter his buns.
It clung to his hair,
But the bidet was there.
Man, that thing's worth the extra funds.

There once was a website on poo.
All the glorious, gelatinous goo!
We will sing its praise
All of our days.
Keep it up, Dave! Keep doing the doo!

I know one chap who's named KeepOnCrappin,
Who on PoopReport's always a-rappin:
"The Cool Crapper" is he,
His best posts make my knee
Be sore, 'cause it I'm always a-slappin!

There once was a chap from Newcastle
Who rolled up a turd in a parcel
He sent it by plane
To a poofter in Spain
To show him the girth of his arsehole

_______
You can't polish a turd

A flurry of verse, it seems
Doting our rear end poop dreams.
But, what calibre and class
(Like the mess from our arse)
There seems to be reams and reams.

_______
You can't polish a turd

I can't wait for the pooets from Eliot:
You cannot only taste them, but smelliot.
For he's such a genius
At the nasty poo verse
That it fills up my gorge and my belliot.

A lawyer from Stewsburg, USA
Boasts poo prose as his special forte.
In both parody and wit
He doth describe his shit
In a most agreeable way.

_______
You can't polish a turd

To Dumpster:

'Once in awhile' I write 'something in style'?
I am offended by this toiletry bile!
I think you're unkind:
My poo verse is sublime
(And yes, my modesty is currently on trial)

_______
You can't polish a turd

Why, Dumpster my friend, I'm touched
And in the words of The King, 'thungyavurrymuch'.
Note: this morning I ate
A burnt omelette
And I've spent 20 minutes in the hutch.

_______
You can't polish a turd

I've tried so hard - it's absurd
But you really CAN'T polish a turd.
The cloth gets dirty
When waxing one's Bertie
And as in the film: 'Grease is the word'

_______
You can't polish a turd

Oh, Lordy! Eliot, please, shut up!
You are causing my gorge to erupt.
You post so many funs
That it gives me the runs,
And I lose through my ass what I supp'ed.

Whene'er in rectal distress
I always make mighty a mess.
My screams can be heard
As I'm squeezing my turd
For miles and miles, moreorless.

_______
You can't polish a turd

A contest you called so a contest it is
PR is fortunate with such literary whizz.
So without further adoo,
More lashings of poo
Please, PoopReporterkind, do your biz!

_______
You can't polish a turd

Eliot, you should go to the doc
(He should finger your ass, not your cock);
Hope he gets at the "whys?"
For the source of your cries
As stuff rolls off your un-loading dock.

Oh, people, from all PR land!
Come and join us, this few, happy band.
Please send us your verse
(The better, the worse),
And in fellowship shake our (brown) hand!

We must these lim'ricks archive
And strive to keep the humour alive.
40 years from now
When I'm under a cow
My poo poems I hope will survive.

*sheds a tear*

_______
You can't polish a turd

Hear hear, fair Dumpster, I agree
For now, it seems, just you and me
Are providing the fun
(Where is everyone?)
Poo limericks, lets all write with glee!

can't polish a turd

TD, the doctor you recommend
Is just not the sort I'd befriend.
With said digit in either place
I'd punch him in the face
And to your address, him I'd send.

_______
You can't polish a turd

Eliot, friend, I marvel that thou
Fantasize being "under a cow."
Perhapst talkest thou thee
With, prithee, an "M.D."?
Who thine ass would commit, say, right now?

Now you've upped the pace old friend;
Yay, my buttocks are still on the mend
For early this morning
Without any warning
My anus did prolapse and distend.

_______
You can't polish a turd

As I inhale to prepare for a grunt,
I ensure that I'm strapped at the front.
For, often I find
When passing wind
I piss myself (spoils the stunt).

_______
You

_______
You can't polish a turd

As the lunchtime hour doth near
I must depart from this verse, I fear
In search of pie,
(But a return I'll try)
And resume unabated with cheer.

God bless TD, was great fun mate!

_______
You can't polish a turd

Once I was feeling down-hearted
So I let loose my anus and farted.
Mom asked, "What's the matter,
did I hear a splatter?"
And then did I realize I'd sharted.

I'm literally rolling in gutters
Laughing at Dumpster and Butterz,
And their quest to be king
Of writing about things
That come from people's turd cutters.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who had to go poo in a bucket.
The outlook was grim
As it filled to the brim
With all of his little butt nuggets.

Once I was at summer camp
And felt on descending the ramp.
I sat on a root
To hold my toot-toot
And started to have a bad cramp.

I finally gave in and went
To the bathhouse in order to vent
My inflated colon,
'Cause all of that holdin'
Had started to put off a scent.

The loaf that I pinched was quite large
As out of my hole it did charge.
"Man, what a relief!"
I pulled up my briefs
And turned to flush the brown barge.

Welcome back to you, senor Pipe
So refreshing to read what you've typed.
Always aiming to please
I do yet hope to tease
Some more rhymes of poop oh-so-ripe.

_______
You can't polish a turd

There once was a man from Kentucky
Who thought he could fart and get lucky
He thought he could hold it
But the smell quickly told it
That he had just made his underpants mucky.

A sailor from foolhardy stock
Decided to poop in his sock.
Slung over his shoulder
This giant poo boulder
He carried from deck to dock.

_______
You can't polish a turd

I knew a dumb asshole named Corning
Who stunk up the crapper one morning
His friends were TO'd
That he'd fouled the commode
Without giving them adequate warning.

AssBlaster 2000 - hey! what 'ho?!
'Tis great you're having a go.
Please shit out some more
Delights - I adore
And contest for the title in tow.

_______
You can't polish a turd

I know that I'm only a rookie,
But writing these poems about dookie
Comes like a charm.
So hey, what's the harm?
I even wrote one about boogies.

Once Billy Bob got a hose
And sprayed syrup all up in his nose.
When he ate a booger,
It tasted like sugar,
And smelled like a sweet little rose.

(It's not about poop, I know, but I couldn't help myself.)

As the pace is cranked up a gear
AssBlaster, I do strongly fear
Your poo rhymes sublime
Wipe the floor with mine
So I'd better step it up my dear!

_______
You can't polish a turd

No, I think your poems are
Better than my own by far.
But this guy Pipe Nightmare
Might give us all a scare
'Cause his are too funny - har har.

An electrician was testing a rocket
And foolishly touched a live socket.
The charge was so high
His bollocks did fry
And promptly he shat in his pocket.

_______
You can't polish a turd

I was quite constipated one night
So I pushed and strained with all my might
The shit wouldn't come out
Very loud did I shout
'Till finally the turd lost the fight.

Yes, indeed, he's seemingly mastered
Multi-stanza'd lim'ricks - the bastard-
But due credit I'll betow
Upon this charming fellow:
Senor Pipe, I'm sure's barely started.

_______
You can't polish a turd

It's getting late here, you know,
So to bed I am going to go.
I'll concoct some more words
That rhyme about turds
And then I'll be back tomorrow.

Of Billy Bob - what a tale indeed!
Ever tell you 'bout the time I smoked weed?
With a bad case of the munchies
I ate a box of wheat Crunchies
And shat like a rabbit on speed.

_______
You can't polish a turd

Senor Pipe, to your dreams so sweet;
It's been a pleasure for us to meet.
Tomorrow, I'm sure
Will bring yet even more
Turd rhyming of brown, faecal treats.

_______
You can't polish a turd

One day back when I went to school
I told the teacher I felt not too cool
She kindly gave me a pass
To go empty my ass
Told me to drop the kids off at the pool.

Examining this collection of rhyme
It's obvious that many of us shine.
What sayeth thee, Dave
That our poop-friendly enclave
Publish our work in The Poop Times?

_______
You can't polish a turd

There once was a young lad named Tim
Who shat himself at school, in gym
All the other kids laughed
When the smell started to waft
They vomited all over him.

AssBlaster, your teacher was kind;
When at school and in the same bind
I was told to sit,
So in my pants did shit
(That day I felt much maligned)

_______
You can't polish a turd

There was a young man who shat green,
All liquid, could squish through a screen.
*DIE*AH*REE* he would whimper,
And his legs would go limper,
And his jockeys, they never got clean.

If you're spending all morn on the john,
And you just can't get your poopin' on,
Don't just read and fart!
It's good for your heart-
Fiber will clean out and open your colon!

Queen of the shitter I am
And my favorite place is the can
As I sit upon my throne
I always give a big groan
And in a minute or two
I produce a large amount of
Doo and then the moment does
Come when I am finally done
Then I wipe my royal ass and pass
The last of my gas as the sound
Of the toilet flush gives me that
Final rush.

Ouch! Tavon, you lost a point because that's not a limmerick. You wrote all in couplets (each two lines rhyming). A limmerick rhymes the first two lines, THEN a couplet, and the last line rhymes with the first two.

They're also read in iambic pentameter, but that's a different issue.

I can 'splain 'em, but I canna write 'em.

_______
Santa Caca!

Methinks tavon hast missed the title;
As a limerick comp 'tis but vital
To follow the scheme:
A A B A yet it seems
That you've taken an inordinately long time to make your last line fit in with the holistic structure of the rest of the recital.

_______
You can't polish a turd

Apologies should read A A B B A

_______
You can't polish a turd

George Eliot said it much cleaner
Because my poetry is rather meaner.
It seems I have not
The talent he's got;
Mine smells like shit from a lemur.

_______
Santa Caca!

I'm going to bed now to dream
Of strawberries, chocolate and cream
And when I awake
A poop I will take
And report on it for PR's team!

_______
Santa Caca!

GottaGoGirl - please don't doubt
Your ability in rhyme - you have clout.
Do bring forth some more,
We'll all soon be in awe
Of your lemur shit verse spurting out.

_______
You can't polish a turd

God bless and sweet dreams triple G,
Your sweet feast surely promises to be
A gargantuan treat -
An impressive feat
Would be to shit a chocolate strawb'ry.

_______
You can't polish a turd

Diarrhea is runny and quick,
Plus, the smell of it can be quite sick.
But if it does start,
Don't let loose with a fart,
Or your undies will be brown and slick.

_______
~Happiness is a warm squirt (and a puppy)~

Projectile diarrhea's no fun
And shoots out like it came from a gun!
It might hit the wall
Or the opposite stall
And the volume is nearly a ton!

_______
~Happiness is a warm squirt (and a puppy)~

a tenspot was left on the green
'bent down to retrieve, i'm so mean
with loud thunderous sound
my shorts did turn brown
and they never again will be clean!

there once was a man from nantucket
who shat loudly into a bucket
would he wipe his ass quick
or even his dick?
"shit, there's no paper! well, fuck it!"

i bet a buck, sadly, i lost eight
my boss, that damned asshole, i'll castrate
i'd shit in his shoe
i'd piss in it, too
if not for enlargement of prostate!

The other day I took a shit
Couldn`t believe the girth of it
My poor old bung
It fucking stung
Cos the log had made it split

If we're talking about bottom blight,
I went for a curry last night,
Now I feel more dumb than tweadle,
Shitting through the eye of a needle,
Red hot lava instead of a shite.

What I want to see from my rump,
Is variety and texture in dumps.
Not this continuous stream,
So hot it's turning to steam,
And leaving my ass as a pump.

I'd created a monster of shits,
It put my friends in a laughter of fits,
The one flush I tried,
The coathanger aside,
I had to cut it to bits.

A redneck squatted by a rock
Took a dump and played with his cock
Shot his load
Across the road
Then wiped his ringpiece with a sock

For the curry I ate was mild,
But still I created a child,
My ring was split,
Then the pain hit,
So I flushed and sent him to the wild.

There once was a man from China,
Whose job was to be a miner,
He shat in the dark,
And as he left his mark,
He played with his wifes vagina.

In days of old
When knights were bold
And shitters weren't invented

They crapped their load
Upon the road
And went away contented....

also

They paint these walls to hide my pen...
But the shit stall bandit struck again!!!!

I love to crap out of doors
Mostly on the forest floors
I drop my log
Just like a dog
While squatting on all fours

For your lim'rick to carry the day
Your metrical "foot" is in play:
It really must be
3 3 2 2 3
Plus "rhyme" of A A B B A.

Thunderbox must be filled with elation
Writing about masturbation.
He must have a fetish
About brown stuff that's wettish.
Well, I'd better get back to my station.

Logjam has just sent me a shoe
That is full of limerical poo.
Is this where I should put
In my metrical foot
And squelch him, sans further ado?

The talent of lovely AssBlaster
For verse leaves poor Dumpster aghast. Her
Skill with the raise
Of the turdular phrase
Creates in my pants a disaster.

My heroine, GottaGoGirl,
Will today the brown python uncurl.
She'll fill up the pot
And she'll hesitate not
To the dismay of Everett's world.

Mr. DuBose met a girl
Who lisped through her teeth of pure pearl.
"I'll hug you or kiss you!"
He swore with an oath.
She cried with a sigh, "Oh, Mister do both!"

The mighty C. Everett Poop
Keeps himself in some very hot soup
With the PR elite,
Who just shit when they meet
His politically incorrect scoop.

I was mortified as you can be
When I sat next to Daphne at tea--
She let out with a start
A loud, sour fart,
But everyone thought it was me!

Then there is The [one] Shit Volcano
Whose wit is as caustic as Drano
When she starts to write
Your nails you must bite
For will she have mercy? Oh, hey, no!

there once was a man from nantucket
who had to shit in a bucket
he ate taco bell
his ass went to hell
and in cries of pain he yelled fuck it!

Holy shit, and what the fuck!
Why can`t I have any luck?
First a fart
Then a shart
Now I`ve filled my pants with muck

Thunderbox leaves us all in the air
For in his above "B B" pair
He dropped the fourth line

For twixt "shart" and "muck," nothing is there!

There once was a man that liked poo,
He shit when he nothing to do,
He put them in jars,
And sent them to Mars,
Everytime he went to the loo.

For quite a few days, to be frank
'Twas only grape soda I drank.
The surprise, I'll not spoil it
A green poo in my toilet
I had the dye in the soda to thank.

Northy is a Shameless Shitter,
His turds get better and better,
When he gets the shits,
His arsehole splits,
And it takes weeks to go back together.

My cats simply don't understand
Small toys don't meet hunger's demands.
When I scoop out their turds
I find things absurd
Like shits wrapped up with rubber bands.

The colour of the turd was red,
I noticed when I shat in my bed,
The smell was bad,
My mum was mad,
It smelt like something was dead.

I desperately needed the loo,
As I really needed to poo,
I sat on the bog,
And dropped my log,
It was the size of a digeridoo

The Dumpster has thrown out the gauntlet,
to fire him my best limerick bullet.
But surely he knows,
that as far as it goes,
my best is butt smelly-ass driblet.

Dumpster, don`t be such a dick
It`s just a short limerick
Of a wee mishap
With liquid crap
Done for a laugh, not technick!

There once was a lassie from Clyde,
Whose stool was remarkably wide.
She’d whimper and gripe,
Whilst laying her pipe,
Then she’d photo her work with great pride.

There was a young man named Jowls
Who had little control of his bowels
He'd do a short dance
Then shit in his pants
And clean up the mess with some towels.

There was a young lady named Glass
Whose bowels would fill up with gas
She'd grunt and she'd groan
She'd whine and she'd moan
Til the poop would shoot out of her ass.

There was a young fellow named Schott
Who often would sit on the pot
He'd sit and he'd think
Then create a huge stink
When the poop came out steamy and hot.

I dare say I was rather flustered.
After shamefully cutting the mustard,
To the toilet I booked,
And fearfully looked,
To find shorts that were full of brown custard.

There was an old man named Murray
For whom pooping was a big worry
He'd have to sit, sit, and sit
Before he could shit
He never got it done in a hurry.

George Eliot Butterz, it seems,
Knows just how to write of these things.
When I read his work,
I feel a small jerk
And liquid in my pants doth steam.

In honor of the story, Skoal and Groans, that I found this great website by:

If you savor a sweet pinch of Skoal,
Down your throat it had better not roll;
For if you don't hurl,
Your colon will curl
And shoot liquid fire from your hole.

There was a Lautrec named Toulouse
Whose bowels became overly loose
He'd scream "Sacre bleu"
And out shit would spew
Caused by drinking too much wormwood juice.

I happen to work at a pool
That hosts the retard group from school.
They arrive on a bus,
Their butts 'bout to bust,
And soil our cool pool with their stool.

I'm the owner of a tater gun,
And decided to have some "clean" fun.
I loaded cat droppings
And with a loud popping
The turds were blown to kingdom come.

There was an anal retentive named Clyde
Who kept it all stored up inside
When it finally let loose
He'd shit like a goose
And it smelled like something had died.

this morning i entered the stall
i pooped but it really was small
so i took out my enlarging gun
and made it a big'un
and then the toilet couldn't handle it all

(did i do it right?)
_______
i love poop.

To me, Wonderpance, it sounds good.
You’ve clearly got power ‘neath the hood.
But pray thee do tell,
what in the hell,
is an “enlarging gun,” if you would?

my wondrous englarging gun
is really quite fun
it makes my poops big
instead of the size of a twig
so i can feel proud about what i have done

(speaking in limmericks is hard!)
_______
i love poop.

If speaking in limericks is hard,
you should try downing some lard.
It’ll tickle your innards,
and pickle your stinkers ,
and snatch you on your own petard.

Got a sorry case of the torn ring blues
Birthed a damn log `bout the size of Tom Cruise
Now my poor bunghole hurts like hell
Needs a repucker job as well
Gotta stop living off beef jerky chews

While I was in my chair, a-rockin',
At my hole a stool was knockin',
I deftly rose to defecate
But plunked back down: too late, too late.

This website is all about poops.
The reports are quite often scoops.
But what tends to get scooped,
(I feel somewhat duped),
Can't be mentioned in many mixed groups.

For the "oral", we have all the words.
For the "anal", we have all the turds.
But the phallic, you find,
Is out of sight, out of mind.
The market that's served is "two thirds".

The writers are very inventive.
The comments provide some incentive.
But a fly in the ointment,
A bummer, a disappointment -
Some stories are anal-retentive.

(Generic Model to help with basic structure)

There once was an X from place B
That satisfied predicate P
He or she did thing A
In an adjective way
Resulting in circumstance C

This girl, she was a stealth pooper,
Her friends thought she was such a trouper.
Without a moan,
She'd drop loads of foam
Silently, then she felt super.

If too many peppers you eat,
Your poop will not be very neat.
They'll tear up your belly,
May be somewhat smelly,
And pack all your B.M.'s with heat.

There once was a wee tiny baby,
Who covered her diapers in gravy.
She did coo and did drool,
And made stink in the pool.
She'll grow out of it someday, maybe?

The day after a long night of drinking,
You know that your butt will be stinking.
Now you play fast and loose,
Spurting out your caboose.
All floaters! No poo's even sinking.

If you drop logs in the shower,
Be sure to clean up for an hour.
For the best you can hope
Is that it mixes with soap
For a smell that's both sweet and sour.

The question seems to be out
About shoving food up the south.
If it works it's way up
From down at the butt
Will it come out as poo at the mouth?

If you're exposed to dirt germs,
You'll certainly feel something squirm.
When you take a big poo
And look in the loo
You'll see an intestinal worm!