A bit Of Toilet Humour

[the_great_she_elephant]

A bit of toilet  humour to cheer you all up. I wrote this in response to a prank photo that circulated showing empty shelves in Busselton Library .

The Literary Dunny

You’ve heard no doubt, the news about

The current bog roll panic,

With fights in shops and calls to cops

And bogans going manic.

Me old mate, Blue, was in a stew

He didn’t find it funny,

That all around no shop he found

With bogroll for his dunny.

He sat alone upon the ‘throne’

In silent desperation,

But then at last there came a blast -

A flash of inspiration.

“Well b*gger me,” he cried with glee

“I’ll fix those theivin’ crooks.

To wipe me crack I’ll just change tack –

And get meself some books.’

With footsteps light at dead of night

He hit the town library,

And helped himself off every shelf

With speed extraordinary.

Then home he crept while others slept

Triumphant and quite blasé

And quickly took each stolen book

And stashed them in the khazi

“And now” he said “they’ll all be read

By me, when on the loo

And when I’m done, to clean me bum

I’ll use a page or two.

I’ve books that that tease and books that please,

And books would shock a parson

But, stone the crows, who sees or knows

Which words I wipe me a**e on?

The library’s shock to find their stock

So cruelly depleted

Was plain to all – as was their call

That justice out be meted.

The South West Times deplored the crimes,

And called for retribution

But sly old Blue had left no clue,

So dodged a prosecution

The only bloke in on the joke

Is me – and there’s no money

Could tempt me to dob in Old Blue

And his literary dunny.

[not_for_sale2025]

And I imagine "another beer" should be a Corona beer.

[the_great_she_elephant]

Old Blue At The Supermarket.

There was chaos down at Woolies, for the word had somehow spread

That a truck load of supplies had come that night

And the scene that early morning filled assistants hearts with dread

As a mob of hoarders gathered for the fight.

They’d come from towns and villages from miles and miles about

The carpark it was packed with cars and utes.

They’d armed themselves with trolleys and like cattle in a drought

Had turned into a mob of angry brutes

But one was there, one not unlike a mallee bull in size

An old, fair dinkum bushie, tried and true.

Who’d just come in that morning for a normal week’s supplies.

You’ve guessed it folks – it was me old mate, Blue.

“Well pickle me old grandmother," Old Blue said to himself.

"If commonsense these buggers do not heed,

There’s going to be carnage in the rush to strip each shelf,

And the oldies will be crushed in the stampede."

At last the doors were opened – it was on for everyone

The mob surged forward with a mighty roar,

Then suddenly a noise rang out: “crack, crack ” just like a gun;

And the hoarders dropped in terror to the floor.

And there was Blue, the Bushie, eyeing off the prostrate throng

With a dirty great big stockwhip in his hand,

And right and left he cracked it with determination strong,

As before the entry doors he made his stand.

“Now listen here, you mongrels" he addressed the cowering mob,

There’s plenty here for all – but just play fair

‘Cause I’m given yez forewarnin’ that I’m makin’ it me job

To ensure the weakest folk first get their share."

They mumbled and they grumbled, but eventually the crowd

Agreed within his rules they would abide.

And the Woolies shop assistants stood as one and cheered aloud

As the old and the infirm were let inside.

Old Blue’s a local legend now – newcomers in the pub

Are told this tale in language most compelling

It’s recounted over drinks in every restaurant and club -

Though the story’s grown somewhat with every telling.

You’ll hear now how a blood-crazed mob, armed to the teeth, once planned

To launch an all-out terrorist attack

But Blue the Bushie faced them with a stockwhip in his hand,

And alone and unassisted drove them back.

[icyfroth]

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@the_great_she_elephant wrote:

Old Blue At The Supermarket.

There was chaos down at Woolies, for the word had somehow spread

That a truck load of supplies had come that night

And the scene that early morning filled assistants hearts with dread

As a mob of hoarders gathered for the fight.

They’d come from towns and villages from miles and miles about

The carpark it was packed with cars and utes.

They’d armed themselves with trolleys and like cattle in a drought

Had turned into a mob of angry brutes

But one was there, one not unlike a mallee bull in size

An old, fair dinkum bushie, tried and true.

Who’d just come in that morning for a normal week’s supplies.

You’ve guessed it folks – it was me old mate, Blue.

“Well pickle me old grandmother," Old Blue said to himself.

"If commonsense these buggers do not heed,

There’s going to be carnage in the rush to strip each shelf,

And the oldies will be crushed in the stampede."

At last the doors were opened – it was on for everyone

The mob surged forward with a mighty roar,

Then suddenly a noise rang out: “crack, crack ” just like a gun;

And the hoarders dropped in terror to the floor.

And there was Blue, the Bushie, eyeing off the prostrate throng

With a dirty great big stockwhip in his hand,

And right and left he cracked it with determination strong,

As before the entry doors he made his stand.

“Now listen here, you mongrels" he addressed the cowering mob,

There’s plenty here for all – but just play fair

‘Cause I’m given yez forewarnin’ that I’m makin’ it me job

To ensure the weakest folk first get their share."

They mumbled and they grumbled, but eventually the crowd

Agreed within his rules they would abide.

And the Woolies shop assistants stood as one and cheered aloud

As the old and the infirm were let inside.

Old Blue’s a local legend now – newcomers in the pub

Are told this tale in language most compelling

It’s recounted over drinks in every restaurant and club -

Though the story’s grown somewhat with every telling.

You’ll hear now how a blood-crazed mob, armed to the teeth, once planned

To launch an all-out terrorist attack

But Blue the Bushie faced them with a stockwhip in his hand,

And alone and unassisted drove them back.

---

yer on a roll,there, old mate El!

Just don't get me started,

on how commensense departed

and turned shopping into hell!

[the_great_she_elephant]

Give it a go, icy. I was hoping others would chip in with a few of  their own rhymes.

[the_great_she_elephant]

Old Blue Gets The Sniffles

You know it’s true me old mate Blue,

Could never be called soft,

But yesterday, to his dismay

He sneezed and then he coughed.

“Well pluck me dead, Old Blue he said,

(But in much stronger terms)

What if,” he thought, “I’ve gone and caught

Those whachamacallit germs?

And what if I, in passing by,

Should spread those germs to others?

I’d bring” he said “down on me head,

The wrath of all their mothers.”

He swigged a beer his gloom to clear,

It gave his brain a jog

And unapalled, he soon recalled

His well-provided bog.

So from the throne he rang me phone,

Described his situation,

And asked if I could please supply

This public explanation:

Old Blue’s not drunk, or in a funk,

But, while his nose is runny,

Me old mate will self-isolate

In his literary dunny

[the_great_she_elephant]

And while Old Blue self-isolates

(I'm sure hw will survive)

It's over to the rest of you

To keep this thread alive.

[tasfleur]

There once was a poet called Blue,

Who needed to isolate too,

He jumped in the basement,

And caused a displacement,

By drinking a whole lot of brew!

               

[bright.ton42]

The Ballad of Bottom Creek 

(With   Apologies to Banjo Patterson)_

There was movement at the station as the

bushies there had found

they had the runs and nought to do but

hang around the dunny

Even Clancy of the Overflow 

a tough and wiry bloke

was turning green and heard to say

This really isn't funny

I've fought the floods and bushfires too

a bloody effing caper

But now the greatest trial of all

We're got no  toilet paper

Then Weedo put his hand up

and said for all to hear

The Colt from Old Regret will take me

to the pub that has no beer

So what you on about roared Boofo

Got sunstroke and the runnies ?

And Weedo said no worries mate,

They're perfect for our dunnies.

They've loaded up with cleaning goods

doing a roaring trade

There's sanitizers, scented soaps

and much of em handmade

Well tell me, screeched old  Clancy

Ya effing silly mutt

what have they got this pansy pub

That will clean me effing butt

Young Weedo grinned a toothless grin

and said, They ain't got Quiltex

But what they got to do the job

is tons and tons of Jex .

Ya might get piles  a little while

and not sit on ya nag

but Jex will clean your butt, and floor,

And cheap as chips a bag

Sadly no more was ever said

Some thought a bit unfair , 

As Weedo ended up with head in loo

and butt up in the air. 

[the_great_she_elephant]

YESSSSS!

Well done, bright.ton

[davewil1964]

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@the_great_she_elephant wrote:

YESSSSS!

Well done, bright.ton

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The scansion needs some work. But it is definitely a step up from those who think limericks are poetry.