The Modern Curmudgeon

Tomorrow I turn 41. What to do once these limericks are done? Will my idle hands seek Out some evil unspeak- able once this new freedom's begun?

In the night, the rain comes, the winds blow Inundating the earth down below But soon, sun ascends And slowly it ends As across the sky spreads the rainbow.

I mostly don't mind the poop. Though the vomit's thrown me for a loop. It's the hoarse, barking cough That at night throws me off As I fear the poor kid's caught the croup.

My apologies for being late With the limericks I'm supposed to create But please take consolation In this explanation: Some of them just aren't worth the wait.

This limerick has been delayed For almost a week now, today I ran out of time So now, here's the rhyme Which I think mostly came out okay.

Irrespective, Nate, of what you think And despite the bright hue of your drink There's likely no chance What you made in your pants Will ever come out colored pink.

In a writers' room one does a dance With the unhealthy snacks that advance On your willpower, waning Till you're left explaining Why you now wear expandable pants.

That sick sinking feeling I've got In my stomach's a Gordian Knot As I pile on to The work I've got to do Which unfortunately's quite a lot.