When Trixie Caldhurst was offered “half a pig for the freezer” from a neighbouring farmer she was delighted. Half a pig was more than enough to keep her going in pork for a long, long time. It was going to be such a saving. What a kind and thoughtful neighbour! Trixie wouldn’t be able to thank them enough. She bought a bottle of wine and a thankyou card to express her thanks when the meat arrived.
Arrive it did! Trixie was most grateful. Except… it wasn’t chopped up. Half a pig was half a pig.
Trixie phoned her friend, Monica. They were both nearing their mid-seventies. Together they could hardly lift the half pig. Trixie looked up on the internet as to how to chop up a pig. The first thing was to split it in half. That was already done. As for the rest, the problem was even if they had the right tools they were in no position to weld them efficiently.
Monica went home and came back with a tomahawk and a hacksaw. Over the course of the next five hours they had the time of their lives. And a few wines. Monica was able to take home a good half of the half pig for herself.
“Necess… neceess.. nesissity is the muvva of invenshin,” declared Trixie at the end of the day. The pork chops were nothing like one would buy in the shop. But, my word, said Trixie pouring a celebration wine, there’s nothing more delightful than a home-chopped chalk pop!
(These limericks are the last of my first-of-the-month poems. There have been 35 poems in all. The weekly music finishes this coming Wednesday the 6th. There will have been 101 music compositions. The daily stories reach the finish line on Thursday 7th with story 1001).
Take note that the weather each winter
Is grey and in need of a tinter
If you slip on the ice
Which isn’t that nice
Your leg’ll get put in a splinter.
Just look at the weather each Spring
It’s an utterly pleasurable thing
It seems to get lotta
Brighter and hotta
With blossom buds blooming their bling.
Observe that the weather each summer
Can be a bit of a bummer
They forecast a drought
But we hardly get out
It just gets crumbier and crumber.
It seems that the weather each fall
Is worse than the autumn before
The more the rain wetters
The colder it getters
I’d rather no weather at all.
(Finally, since some definitions of the limerick say it must be bawdy and involve a member of the higher clergy…)
Did you hear of the bishop of York
Who was heavily into his pork?
Bits of the gristle
Sliced up his pizzle
So now he pokes with a fork.
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A sheep, a cow, and a pig are standing at the farm fence watching the arrival of a truck with new livestock.
Sheep: Who do you suppose is arriving this time? Cow: It could be a cow. Pig: It could be a pig. Sheep: It could be a sheep.
Two ostriches step off the truck and on to the field.
Pig: What are they doing here? Cow:(calling out) Go home, you dirty foreigners. Sheep: We have lived on this land for generations. Pig: No room here. It’s crowded enough as it is.
Cow: They messed up their own land, and so now they have to come and mess up ours. Sheep: Here goes the neighbourhood. Pig: They say ostriches can kick something terrible. They’re introducing violence into society. Cow: Next thing they’ll expect us to welcome alpacas.
Once there was a beautiful princess, called Gabriellina. Her hair shone golden as the sun. Her skin was white as fresh snow. Her lips were as red as a ripe near-rotting nectarine. Her breasts (As The Songs of Songs might say) were like a couple of sheep coming out of a sheep dip. This overall combination strikes me as quite ugly, but she wasn’t. She was… woof, woof, woof.
Her father, the king, had promised her hand in marriage to a pig. A pig! A real oink oink oink pig. Not a human being who acted like a pig, but a hog. One that makes bacon. A real grunting boar.
“You never know,” said the king. “The pig is possibly the victim of some horrible spell caste by a gruesome witch. He is really a handsome prince. The spell will be broken when my beautiful princess marries him.”
The wedding was arranged. The kingdom celebrated. There were street parties and everything.
The princess appeared on the balcony with her newly married pig. They kissed. The pig turned into a frog.
Libby had just picked her husband, Jonathan, up from the hospital. He’d been there for “more than a few days” for a rather serious operation. It’s amazing what medical science can do these days. The surgeon (he was from the Middle East; hospitals are such cosmopolitan places!) had replaced one of Jonathan’s heart valves with a pig’s valve. They can do it! They did it! Jonathan was feeling a box of birds!
The thing he most looked forward to was a decent meal. Not that there was anything wrong with the hospital food. It was quite alright. But Libby’s home cooking was much nicer. It was so carefully prepared, so tasty. And of course, being at home, the meal could be eaten leisurely in familiar surroundings without everyone looking. How tired he was of eating from a tray!
And how wonderful it will be, with his brand new pig’s valve, to eat without chest pain!
“So what’s for dinner?” asked Jonathan.
“Roast pork,” said Libby. “The surgeon gave it to me. He said there was quite a lot of pork left over.”