One Sunday, big G said with mirth,
I think I will make me an Earth,
From gravel and rocks,
And, bless my old socks,
I'll cover much over with turf.

For five and a half days he sweated,
Making mountains and lakes, and swamps fetid,
And birds, beasts, and fowl,
Then he wiped with a towel,
His face.  Just one more thing, he fretted.

It's now Friday, late afternoon,
And Mrs G wants him home soon,
So his final creations
With acceleration's
Complete, with no time to fine-tune.

He thus broke the rule that is golden,
As all engineers could have told 'im,
Qual'ty control
On each part and the whole's
Essential when gizmos you're mouldin'.

The next bit I've told you elsewhere,
You're welcome to look if you dare,
About Adam and Eve,
And his snake she percieves,
In two versions too, I declare.

They self-replicated, 'til hordes
Were whoring around with the broads,
Which wasn't too bad,
But then they went mad,
And turned all their ploughs into swords.

So when God looks out on the morra,  (morrow,)
He cries, (being Irish,) "Begorrah!
Christ, what have I done,
Amok they all run,
Sod'em I'll go nuke Gomorra."

He did so, he's really a killer,
And turned poor Lot's wife to a pillar.
(Take that, I was taught,
With a large pinch of salt,)
He's mad as that bastard attilla.  

(you'd better look in Deja in alt.arts.limericks, "Xmas cracker time, for more about 
Attilla.)

Says Gabriel, his mate, "See the signs,
They need a complete redesign."
Says G: "Fuck that, angel,
One more little change'll
Fix it.  I'll drown them in brine."

So now we have try number 3,
For the so-called infallible G;
One family he'll save
From a watery grave,
And give them a cruise on the sea.

But first Noah, and his wife Barbie,
Must go on a massive safari,
To round up a pair
Of each animal there,
From bumble bee to the Okapi.

The rain falls in torrents gigantic,
They float off, cross the Atlantic,
But mucking out cages
Takes everyone ages,
And the stench of the shit drives them frantic.

It's piled on that deck called the poop,
Of Noah's old gopher-wood sloop,
He calls to his crew,
"I know what we'll do,
We'll shovel it overboard, troop."

It made there a 'normous great mound,
The stink would a dung fly astound....
Then many years later,
A great navigator,
Columbus, that shit-heap then found.

My story there folks, is thus ended.
Please say if you've *not* been offended.
For your race or creed,
In some further screed,
Omissions will soon be amended.

go to Eden

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Last updated: Thu, 3 Feb 2000.