There Was a Brain Surgeon Named Gumby

There was a brain surgeon named Gumby
Who was known as a bit of a dumby
When he did operate
He heard, "Sorry mate,"
"But it's nearer my head than my tumby."

Entries were to be judged on "humor, topic, originality, poetic style, adherence to the Limerick form, and overall Pythonic quality." Contestants were urged to be as silly as they liked, and could send in as many entries as they wanted, as long as they were in before the duedate, which was originally November 29, 1997. The first place winner was to recieve the coveted Virtual Shrubbery! (See main Contest page for explanation)

Our judges were Linus the Llama (lb-llama@usa.net), TAH (heparr@gte.net), MontySix (MontySix@aol.com), SkyeWings (SkyeWings@aol.com), and BasilCE (BasilCE@aol.com). We were as fair and impartial as possible in our judging, except when we weren't. And now, the entries:

Whether Limerick poetry would have been permitted under the reign of the Spanish Inquisition is unknown but the Python version of same did inspire at least one fan thus ...


From: kc55@sprynet.com (David Caudill)

The Spanish Limerick

We are the Spanish Inquisition
Our chief weapon thingy is Indigestion
Oh! I mean Surprise and
Fear, Fear and Surprise
and an almost... I hate that damn question



Usually our judges don't write poems themselves but Linus the Llama did, although he later had doubts it would go over well ...


From: lb-llama@usa.net (Linus the Llama)

There once was a shrubber called Roger
Who wasn't a jew, but a codger.
Yes, did he once fail,
And did end up in jail
Said Pilate, "I will welease Woger!"



One property of the Limerick form is its fine ability to form into verses. This three-verse epic came to us from Fred Coppersmith, a previous entrant and grand poobah of the Penn State Python Society.



From: fxc121@psu.edu (Fred Coppersmith)

"I wish to register a complaint,"
Said Praline in a petshop quite quaint.
"Despite what you say,
That bird's passed away.
I'm sure that 'e didn't just faint."

Said the owner, "Then I'd better replace
That bird with one more to your taste.
But I've checked, and alack,
There's none 'round the back.
How 'bout we just go back to my place?"

A plumed parrot without any peer
Sat nailed on its perch without a soul near.
"Oh what can I do?"
Cried this Norwegian Blue.
"The fjords must be lovely this year."



I said something or other about keeping the poems relatively clean. This inspired Cori to pen two poems, one naughty and one nice.



Cori Elliott
Behind the Water Pipe
Third Washroom Along Victoria Station
no, actually (melliott@netrox.net)

1. (Not quite so naughty)
The BBC wants to apologize
For the right disobedience of the guys,
But they're from broken homes,
Please don't call or write tomes,
Peckinpah they will no longer satirize.

2. (Naughty)
I SHOULD be offended to bits,
When they say, "...with the biggest tits,"
But how can I nag
When I just want to shag
The one who runs out and says, "It's!"



The "Naughty" poem so well summed up the feelings of female Python fans that TAH, Goddess of Oddness and high dictator of "The Michael Palin Appreciation Page" asked in loud terms to post it on her page, to which Cori readily consented. Mike's sex appeal as the "It's" man must be greater than previously thought. Here's an unfinished Brian-based work:



xaxonfuzz@topeka.cjnetworks.com (Marc Alan Schultz)

There was a young man from Judeah,
The People's Front made him their leader,
Although he was shy,
To the window he'd fly,
Gave them all a good look at his peter.

Complete this:
There was a strange man Pontius Pilate,
Whose servants found it a riot,
While attempting to release
A prisoner for peace,
That his lisp was...(?)



Riley Harris pondered lupins and parrots (popular subject, that) while sculpting his two entries:



From: Riley Harris (SoupOfDay@aol.com)

There once was a man, Dennis Moore,
Who gave from the rich to the poor,
The one problem was,
No one liked him because,
He only gave lupins, no more.

Also:
In a shop once a parrot was stored;
The parrot was dead as a board
After bangin' the head,
I was sure it was dead;
Or just pining for the fiords!