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When I was in college, there was this Irish pub. The owner was just a cool dude. And sometimes, he would get up on stage with his guitar and sing a bunch of dirty limericks, Irish folk tunes, good solid drinking music.

My best friend, and a couple of casual acquaintances, would usually hang out there on Thursdays or Fridays. The owner liked us, and thought it would be a cool if a bunch of girls were to get up on stage and start singing the dirtiest limericks ever, to this sing-songy tune. (C, G, G7, C, C7, F, C, A, D, G, C, for those of you out there who are ukulistically inclined.) He said if we came by, and helped him entertain the crowd, then beers are on the house.

Free beer? Broke ass girl in college? Say no more. (This was about a decade before the boobs, but feel free to imagine the super busty drunk cursing girl on the stage rhyming about things like menstruation, murder, incest, necrophilia, and good old-fashioned boinking. The boobs certainly would've added to the act.)

It's been years since I've practiced my old limerick skills. There was a time when a group of us could go on for about an hour and a half (that was our longest sesh), and never have to repeat a limerick more than once. But as time progresses, I fear that they're escaping my mind. Best to preserve them.

So in the last few days, I've taken some time to commit the ones that I still remember to paper. I like to rank them on a 10 scale. They all have names… Percy is a two; Jill is a five; Jenn is a seven; Dave is an eight; Mable is a nine...

And then there's Glenngarriage. That's the only 10 I've ever stumbled across.

That's the last one you would dare do. That's one where every single fucking word is just so repulsive, so gross, so just fucking nasty. That's the one that you close with, because the audience would erupt with disgusted noises, then you all take your bow, drink some more beer, and call it a night.

I'll share my favorite first. It's the one about Dave.

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"There once was a fella named Dave

who kept a dead whore in a cave.

And though he'd admit

she smelled just like shit,

just think of the money he saved."

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Love that one. It… It tells a story.

Another one that I love so much, is the one about Jenn. Traditionally, it's about Jenn. But if there's a Jenn, or Glenn, or a Gwen, or a Ben, or Ken in the audience, and this person was having a birthday or something, it was always fun to pick them out of the audience and screw with them. But traditionally, it goes…

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"There once was a lady named Jenn

who was fucked in the ass by many men.

She would take dicks as large

as the size of a barge

and now bears use her ass as a den."

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Great visuals, utterly eccentric, and dirty as hell. It was always fun to read this one in a slow, overly dramatic, drawn-out way, like you were some member of the Kings Players.

Which brings us to the 10. The limerick for which I have never found an equal.

In case you are weak of stomach, here is your official disclaimer to not read on.

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"There once was a lad from Glengarriage:

the fruit of a lascivious marriage.

He sucked off his mother,

and buggered his brother,

and ate up his sisters' miscarriage."

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I warned you. Yes chaps, I'm afraid yours truly has a messed up, dirty mind sometimes. But is far as early 20s rebellions go, I think I got off pretty easy.

My only regret is that I've never had a dirty limerick written about me. Someday.

But in the meanwhile? Free beer.