Archive for Limerwrecks

Human Limerwreckage

Posted in FILM with tags , on October 9, 2015 by dcairns


Hilary Barta’s Limerwrecks site, quiescent these past few trices, is back for the run-up to Halloween!

As usual, I have contributed some dodgy doggerel, which you can click through to here and here. The subject is MAD LOVE (the best kind. Be sure to check out the other authors’ shapely lims.

There once was a limerick writer

Whose second line needed to get a bit tighter

His third was short

And his fourth didn’t rhyme

But his last one couldn’t be any shiter more perfect.


Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on April 14, 2015 by dcairns

Okay, now this happened.

It suddenly occurred to me that subtitling Leo was the way to go, and wouldn’t be that hard. So that’s what I did. I rewrote it slightly from yesterday’s version for purposes of timing, so there are some new lines in there. Enjoy!


More limericks, like this one on Greenstreet & Lorre

More schinkenworter (ham-words) — in which I attempt to condense movie stars of the early thirties into single compound words. It may make more sense if you just go look at it, care of The Chiseler.


The Sunday Supers

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , on March 8, 2015 by dcairns

There are no intertitles in Clément films, so I have to finish Réne Clément Week with a bodge-up. Two superimposed titles from late Cléments, each a quote from Lewis Carroll ~


“Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next.”



“We are but older children, dear/Who fret to find our bedtime near.”


Both quotes are eccentrically apposite to their respective films, and also establish the quirky tone. I resolve now to begin a film with a Lewis Carroll quote. I think my favourite lines from Through the Looking Glass are too long and clunky for the purpose, though the beauty of them is that they never ever make it into filmed adaptations so they’re relatively unfamiliar ~

‘Crawling at your feet,’ said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), ‘you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.’

‘And what does IT live on?’

‘Weak tea with cream in it.’

A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. ‘Supposing it couldn’t find any?’ she suggested.

‘Then it would die, of course.’

‘But that must happen very often,’ Alice remarked thoughtfully.

‘It always happens,’ said the Gnat.

And here is an unrelated limerick.


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