By the time I arrived at adulthood the state of the limerick as a masterpiece of the literary foil was in alarming decline. Playboy Magazine attempted to inject new life into the medium during the 1960s and 1970s by paying $500 for limerick submissions accepted for publication. The selection process was tough and they accepted only true masterpieces.
During those years I submitted no fewer than ten [10] limericks per month and never had one accepted. Hundreds of limericks. There was no place in Playboy for second-rate hacks.
While the artform requires a particular meter, the truly well-constructed one needs more. Internal rhyming. Puns. Lilting beat to simulate waves on a beach. A joy to the tongue and ear.
To illustrate my point, here is perhaps the best limerick ever written, once published in Playboy:
The new cineramic emporium
Is not just a super-sensorium
But a highly effectual
Heterosexual
Mutual masterbatorium.
Every time I run those timeless words through my mind, I’m humbled.
I don’t know whether the image at the top of the page depicts a man who once wrote limericks and submitted them to Playboy. He almost certainly could have. Possibly should have.
He might have been a contender.
Old Jules
