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Kak-to raz shest' rabotnikov morga
Izbirali iz trupov partorga.
CHtob ni vzdutij, ni pyaten,
CHtob moral'no opryaten,
I so svyazyami v sfere Lentorga.

Kak-to noch'yu v odesskom portu
Locman sp'yanu vzyal kartu ne tu,
I kotoryj uzh god
Vspominaet narod
Tanker s dyrochkoj v pravom bortu.

Kak-to raz kalligraf v Podnebesnoj
Nachertal ieroglif izvestnyj
Na stene tualeta
I kaznen byl za eto
V nazidanie vsej Podnebesnoj.

Ochen' grubyj shvejcar iz Permi
Znal tri noty vsego: do, re, mi.
I, pomimo togo,
Znal tri bukvy vsego,
On ih chasto pisal nad dver'mi.

Kak-to raz predsedatel' kolhoza
Nedovypolnil plan po navozu.
CHtoby vypolnit' plan,
Po sovetu sel'chan,
Dal purgenu korovam i kozam.

Na kartinkah v zhurnale "Andrej"
Ne najdete ni ptic, ni zverej.
Horosho, chto hotya by
Est' tam golye baby;
Srazu vidno, redaktor -- evrej.

Odnomu mudrecu iz Bengalii
V Novyj God podarili sandalii.
Budet v novom godu
CHem kidat' v kakadu,
CHtob ne peli na pal'mah, kanalii!

Odnomu mudrecu iz Bengalii
Povredili v boyu genitalii.
Nedorod v ih rodu
Budet v novom godu,
Golod, zasuha, mor i tak dalee.

Tri veselyh starushki iz Gomelya
Tridcat' let na ede ekonomili.
Do chego zhe hudy
U starushek zady,
Zato talii - luchshie v Gomele.

Odin gospodin iz Berdicheva
Sel na sled isprazhneniya ptich'ego.
Oglyadevshi svoj frak
On skazal: "Eto znak,
Tol'ko smysl ne mogu ya postich' ego".

Gorodok razdelyaet reka,
S dvuh storon u nee berega,
YA zhivu na odnom,
Nu, a ty na drugom,
A do smerti chetyre shaga.

Sbrosiv teshchu s mosta nad rekoj
YA ustroil ej vechnyj pokoj.
I neyasno prohozhim
V etot den' nepogozhij
Pochemu ya veselyj takoj.

Na zatylok zadvinuvshi kepi,
SHel Esenin, lyubuyas' na stepi.
Vdrug vdali, u reki
Zasverkali shtyki -
|to belogvardejskie cepi...

Govoryat, chto Boris Pasternak
Poseshchal po subbotam bardak.
Tol'ko vse eto vraki:
V bardaki Pasternaki
Po subbotam ne hodyat nikak!

Nikolaya Ostrovskogo v shkole
Pedagogi chasten'ko poroli.
Nam bednyagu ne zhal':
Zakalilis', kak stal',
YAgodicy Ostrovskogo Koli.

U pisatelya grafa Tolstogo
Revolyuciya v zerkale snova.
Uzhe pyatye sutki
|ti gnusnye shutki
Prodolzhayutsya, chestnoe slovo!

ZHil artist v podmoskovnom Klinu,
Nemcev v fil'mah igral pro vojnu
|tot mrachnyj urod,
I, predstav'te, narod-
nym v Germanii stal. Nu i nu!

Raz nashli na zavode Badaeva
Neizvestnyj dnevnik CHaadaeva.
CHto ni slovo, to yat',
Nichego ne ponyat',
I devat' neizvestno kuda ego.

Gospodin Bonas'e, muzh Konstancii,
Sochinyal dokladnye v instancii.
CHto ni den', to donosec...
Vot ved' kak: rogonosec,
A borec za velichie Francii!

Musul'manin Abu-Ben-Simbel
Viski lozhkoj stolovoyu el.
Na vopros, v chem prichina,
On skazal: "Durachina!
PIT' spirtnoe Allah ne velel".

Devica odna iz Orla
Pronicatel'na ochen' byla,
I zachem ee dzhinom
Ugoshchayut muzhchiny,
Ponimala, no vse zhe pila.

1 (Odin)

Na bol'shuyu dorogu 1
Vyhodil muzykant Bor-1
I sluchajnyh prohozhih
Bil pri etom po rozhe
|kscentricheskij sej gosp-1

2 (Dva)

Podaval'shchicy Galya da Valya
Restoran osnovali v po-2-le
Kavalery po 2
Pribyvali v po-2-l
Tol'ko est' tam e-2 li davali.

3 (Tri)

S 3-buny 3-shchala Ka-3-n:
"O-3-kayus' ot gnusnyh muzhchin!"
Bros' 3-pat'sya, Ka-3-n,
Dlya 3-vog net prichin,
Ne zhelaet tebya ni 1.

5 (Pyat')

Ot voznikshih na lysine 5-en
Gorbachev okonchatel'no s-5-il.
Ne daval lyudyam vy-5,
Vski-5-il rechku Pri-5
I Boris ego zhivo po-5-il.

200 (Dvesti)

200-rvoznyh devicy iz bani
Po-200 ih prosili na krane.
Zayavili: "Net mesta?!
Na strele nas po-200!"
Ra-200 ih shofer dyadya Vanya!

The following limericks are taken from Gershon Legman's two-volume

                 * * *

There was a young girl of Darjeeling
Who could dance with such exquisite feeling
    There was never a sound
    For miles around
Save of fly-buttons hitting the ceiling.

                 * * *

There was a young fellow of Mayence
Who fucked his own arse, in defiance
    Not only of custom
    And morals, dad-bust him,
But most of the known laws of science.

                 * * *

There was a young fellow of Ealing,
Devoid of all delicate feeling.
    When he read on the door:
    `Don't shit on the floor'
He jumped up and shat on the ceiling.

                 * * *

There was a young lady of Fismes
Who amazingly voided four streams.
    A friend poked around
    And a fly-button found
Wedged tightly in one of her seams.

                 * * *

There was a young man named O'Rourke,
Heard babies were brought by the stork,
    So he went to the zoo
    And attempted to screw
One old bird -- end-result: didn't work.

                 * * *

There was a young fellow named Veach
Who fell fast asleep on the beach.
    His dreams of nude women
    Had his proud organ brimming
And squirting on all within reach.

                 * * *

There was a young lady of Gloucester
Whose friends they thought they had lost her,
    Till they found on the grass
    The marks of her arse,
And of the knees of the man who had crossed her.

                 * * *

A pansy who lived in Khartoum
Took a lesbian up to his room,
    And they argued all night
    Over who had the right
To do what, and with which, and to whom.

                 * * *

`My back aches. My penis is sore.
I simply can't fuck any more.
    I'm dripping with sweat,
    And you haven't come yet;
And, my God! it's a quarter to four!'

                 * * *

There was a young Jewess named Hannah
Who sucked off her lover's banana.
    She swore that the cream
    That shot out in a stream
Tasted better than Biblical manna.

                 * * *

A worried young man from Stamboul
Discovered red spots on his tool.
    Said the doctor, a cynic,
    `Get out of my clinic!
Just wipe off the lipstick, you fool.'

                 * * *

There was a young fellow named Lancelot
Whom his neighbors all looked on askance a lot.
    Whenever he'd pass
    A presentable lass,
The front of his pants would advance a lot.

                 * * *

Exclaimed a young girl in Kildare,
As her lover's jock towered in air,
    `If that goes in me I
    Shall certainly die --
As I shall if it doesn't go there.'

                 * * *

There was a young girl of Spitzbergen
Whose people all thought her a virgin,
    Till they found her in bed
    With her quim very red,
And the head of a kid just emergin'.

                 * * *

There was a young fellow named Bliss
Whose sex life was strangely amiss,
    For even with Venus
    His recalcitrant penis
Would never do better than t

                 * * *

There was a young maid from Madras
Who had a magnificent ass;
    Not rounded and pink,
    As you probably think --
It was grey, had long ears, and ate grass.

                 * * *

The nipples of Sarah Sarong,
When excited, are twelve inches long.
    This embarrassed her lover
    Who was pained to discover
She expected no less of his dong.


We've socially conscious biography,
Esthetics, and social geography.
    Today every field
    Boasts its Marxian yield,
So now there's class-conscious pornography.

Oh, the worker is nobody's fool,
For by rights he's the man with the tool.
    His ponderous prick'll
    Arise with the sickle,
And bugger the Fascists who rule.

Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties
For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties.
    Her very best ad
    Was herself, lightly clad
In her three-ninety-five silken scanties.

So this wench is a capitalist,
She's our villain and ought to be hissed.
    But she's lush and she's plump,
    And a glimpse of her rump
Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed.

Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out
To give Communist Labor the knock-out.
    She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.'
    (She'd attended good schools),
And took a fresh bottle of Hock out.

Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman
(And an eminent amateur whoreman).
    Just to be sympathetic
    He grew peripatetic,
'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman.

For this lout was a scab born and bred,
Who fainted whene'er he saw red:
    In distress he reported,
    But she only retorted,
`Run home and hide under your bed.'

For her plans were peculiar and wicked,
As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.'
    She lured him inside
    And insidiously plied
The prick of the picket to lick it.

Joe's rod was stiff as a rail,
But he couldn't let principles fail.
    `You degenerate bitch,
    That's a trick of the rich;
But the people prefer honest tail.

`You may tickle the cocks and the vanities
Of the rich men who purchase your scanities,
    But the proud People's front
    Calls for sound hairy cunt.
So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.'

He picked a soft couch in her office,
And tore off her pants and ripped off his.
    Then he showed her the rod
    Marks the difference, by God,
Between what a man and a toff is.

Now our Joe was the first proletarian
Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian
    Recess of de Vaughan,
    Which had sheltered the spawn
Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan.

Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring,
You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?'
    He replied, `Starving masses
    Mean more than plump asses.
Last night from within I was boring.'

And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over,
Her picket had left (to recover),
    But he'd furnished her womb
    With incipient bloom:
A fact she had yet to discover.

So after nine months, to the day,
The employer in labor pains lay.
    As the boy hove in sight
    He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!'
And the doctors all fainted away.

The moral of this is, my child,
By rich promises don't be beguiled.
    Remember that workers
    Are eminent firkers,
And go left, if you must be defiled.

Newsgroups: relcom.humor
From: gambit.msk.su!sas@pulsar.ac.msk.su (Serge A. Sekaev)
Subject: Re: One limerick (in English)

There was a man from Racine
Who invented a didling machine;
Both concave and convex,
It could fit either sex ...

I got a woman living right back of the jail,
She got a sign on her window - Pussy For Sale.

There was a young man from Eau Claire
Who didled his wife on the stair.

Papa's in jail,
Mama's on bail,
Baby's on the corner
Shouting "Pussy for sale!"

Na okne sidit vorona
I kota v vidu imeet.
Kot ee imeet tozhe
K sozhalen'yu skvoz' steklo.
I vorona razmyshlyaet:
Horosho emu, sobake,
Tam v teple, kogda snaruzhi
Vot takie holoda.
Kot vylizyvyaet uho -
Tipa vovse ne imeet
Nikakih voron pribludnyh,
A sam dumaet sebe:
Kaby mne takuyu mordu,
Da takie ruki-kryuki,
Da takie nogi-kryl'ya,
Kak by ya ee pojmal!
Hren-ta! - dumaet vorona, -
Razbezhalsya, mohnonogij.
Ty sledi, chtob ot volnen'ya
Vse sebe ne otlizal.
Kot slegka smezhaet veki:
Pomnyu, v tysyacha kakom-to
Ne tebya li ya, parshivku,
CHut' na per'ya ne pustil?
A steklo mezh nimi hodit
I volnuetsya, bednyaga:
Tak i hochetsya voronu
Pomirit' emu s kotom.
Razryvaetsya ot schast'ya,
Ot volneniya poteet,
Pobezhalost'yu ishodit...
Vot i lopnulo sovsem!
Porazilas' tut vorona -
Neuzheli kot raskokal?
Kot ne men'she udivilsya:
Ne vorona, a kachok!
I, dovol'nye drug drugom,
Tak sideli celyj vecher,
A steklo vnizu valyalos'
I puskalo puzyri.

Last-modified: Sat, 22 Nov 1997 06:14:34 GMT
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