The judge for this contest is legendary (meaning semi-retired) Minneapolis Star Tribune writer Al Sicherman. Uncle Al, as he's known to his devoted readers, has been a food-writer, humorist, and columnist at the paper for more than twenty years. He is also the author of the recent Uncle Al's Geezer Salad: A mixed bag of reports on overlong repair projects, smart remarks from dogs, and a whole lot of one man's decline into mental cottage cheese. You may certainly buy the book from the bookseller of your choice, but even better: if you buy it directly from Al he'll inscribe it, pithily, just for you. Let me know, and I'll hook you up.
Anyway. I am very grateful to Al for wasting the better part of his weekend on our little contest. Check back here tomorrow, when the angel rolls the stone away, exposing the Hop To It limerick contest winners.
A recap of the enties (as they were submitted, anonymously, to the judge):
From my wrists now hangs all of my weight.
To Friday night seder I’m late.
But the best news of all
Is, although I'm not tall,
The view from up here sure is great!
Little Lamb through the field skips and plays
As the sunshine beams down warming rays.
It all seems so sweet
'Til the lamb we will eat
With Mom’s creamy mint sauce Hollandaise.
There once was a savior named Jesus
Who died on the cross to relieve us
From sins we’ve committed.
But is it permitted
To say that I find it all specious?
So here I hang, nailed to a tree.
And Christ, I'm just thirty-three!
The "King of the Jews?"
Oh piss off, you screws.
Dad, whack that f*ck Judas for me!
A basket of three fluffy chicks
Floating calmly down old river Styx
Were astonished to see
Charon rowing back He
Who defied Satan, death to transfix
Nails pounded through hands and feet
My sacrifice so bittersweet
Look into in my eyes
See, I did not realize
That I died so that you can eat Peeps
“I’ve come back to Earth. . .say it loud!
I rolled back the stone, shed that shroud.
Quite soon I’ll ascend
(family ties to a-mend)
But first, autographs for the crowd.”
“Mother Dearest, please come near.
Mary Mag too, there’s a dear.”
(God, my hands hurt -
what was THAT spurt?!?)
“I can see our house from here.”
“Forgive them,” I said, “Neither damn
their sins to-ward God and the lamb,”
Mid-scorn someone ventured,
“At last, he is censured
For claiming that He’s the ‘I AM’!”
M. Magdalene seemed to be humming
A tune unbefit for this numbing
Ordeal. "In three days,"
She said, all a-glaze,
"I'll get a divine second cumming."
I bear up this agony mine
As the robbers beside me do whine.
Sure, my clothes you won’t rip
But you proffer a sip
Of this crap that you pass off as wine?!?
My muscles are now stretching thin.
Asphyxiation slowly sets in.
Carpal tunnel’s a bitch.
Damn! My nose has an itch.
I could so use a tonic and gin . . .
It’s a bitch to be nailed to a tree
On this crappy old Mount Calvary.
There's no Friday reprieve
As I watch Momma grieve;
This feels like a Monday to me.
The morning’s a bit of a haze.
Disciples have gone their own ways.
I’m chastised and scourged
And with low tunes I’m dirged;
I’ve definitely had better days.
My friend last night did me betray,
Now “Rex Iudaeorum” they say.
Three hours to die
On a tree very high;
And you thought you had a bad day?
The stories 'most ev'ryone knows
Tell of Jesus's triumphs and woes.
But the lamb we call "paschal"
Was really a rascal;
His friends were accountants and hos.
The Creator had plans, it would seem,
For his son to take one for the team.
But as humankind's loss
Hung there limp on the cross,
I thought maybe he'd gone to extremes.
So I'm hanging here up on this tree,
As my father expected of me.
Pontius Pilate said, "Guilty."
Now I'm feeling quite wilty.
But don't worry, I'll see you in three . . .
This drag-my-cross march is amiss.
(I wish I could just take a piss.)
The spikes, rough and fat,
Will hurt lots; I hope that
The guy with the mallet won’t miss.
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