I want to thank Norm for all this wasted time…..

Waiting for the action,
I-pod,
Listenin’ to Michael Jackson,
All in
Jay shows 2-7 off.can’t beat it, beat it,
that’s just human nature,
why? WHY?

What was in that chicken we just ate
At what time will we skate
Playing poker with the blues
Time and again we remove our shoes
I for one, would not like to donate

An effete poker snob named McManus
Deemed play unlike his truly heinous
When beat out of a pot
Which happened a lot
He’d cry, “Where’d those cards come from, your anus?”

Playing poker at the taj
I thought I was in control
But there was this guy raj

Driving home in my hardtop black Vette
I wished that I’d flopped a mere set.
I cursed Karamanis
And that smart-ass, McManus,
Then vowed to play even solider yet.

Entering a pot that cost me a few quarters
Trying not to get slaughtered
Looking for blinds to steal
Peering down at a steel wheel
It’s all over and I get quartered

There were poker players on Thursdays who played very late
Looking to profit from those who could not calculate
But luck entered in
And cost the players their buy in
And the fish could not help but be elate

There once was a poet named Art
Who liked to build fences and fart.
He recited his rhymes
Many dozens of times
Till his hearers smelled gas and departed.

There once was a nice guy named Duncan,
Of whos’ poker prowess everyone was a fan,
He stacked Eric twice,
WTF, Eric cried,
that wasn’t very nice,
and that was the day beautiful poker died.

I work hard all day to earn my keep
To play poker but once a week
But instead of elation
I’m now plagued with senseless oration
And its one more thing that puts me to sleep

Jimmy k had to put up crown moldings
lest his wife give him beatings and scoldings.
art’s poems made him bored,
fall asleep till he snored
losing money by mistakenly folding…

Jimmy K fancies himself a regular in the game,
Sleeping while awake is his claim to fame,
As everyone assumes he is about to play,
His wife holds sway,
these excuses are getting pretty lame.

There once was a poker boy named Jim,
Who would coyly say when you raised ‘im,
I know I got you beat,
But for now l will retreat,
and promptly fall asleeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Did Mexicans write Rocky’s limerick?
‘Twas so bad! So off-kilter! So sick!
He should stick to snowboardin’
And purple chip hoardin’.
(He has “paint” in his hair, but it’s thick.

I have a Northwestern engineering degree,
It did not come from a crackerjack box for free,
OK, I admit I practice law,
Perhaps some see that as a flaw,
BUT I AIN’T A FUCKIN’ ENGLISH MAJOR!

An NU degree Norm may have;
A white-shoe law practice, paid staff.
When it comes poeticizing
Or for that matter, criticizing,
I’m Da Bull and, well, Norm is Da Calf.

A poker player named Norm from the game.
He will never rhyme his way to world fame.
Your limericks do suck,
more often than your cards preflop hit the muck.
Chiro still luvs ya all the same.

An actuary named Jay, from Nantucket,
Told his hookers to “Kneel down and suck it.
Gussy up like a lez
And I’ll give you San-chez:
Smear some poo on your twat and I’ll f-ck it.”

Jim is a writer, that’s for sure,
composing limericks is his tour.
But all you players have other jobs
to occupy your brainy nobs.
Don’t any of you work any more?