A Challenge

[WeakSausClock]

The challenge is the following

Write a poem that doesn't suck that starts with "There once was a (man, boy, girl, chick, woman, etc) from nantucket" that doesn't suck. And more importantly does not include the words or phrases "fuck it"  "Bucket" "suck it (outside sexuality OK)" at all.

I can't wait to see what gets posted

[SnakeClock]

Does it have to be a limerick, or can it be anything?

[WeakSausClock]

Poetry is the only real limit, Limrik is the form that jumps to mind but feel free to run with it.

[MahjongClock]

Haiku!

There once was a man
from Nantucket, he loved
His boat, the Dauntless.

[WeakSausClock]

Haiku!

There once was a man
from Nantucket, he loved
His boat, the Dauntless.

brilliance... I am made happy by this. I crave more!

[Slurpee]

There once was a french mime from nantucket
He played poker to try his luck it
dind't work out.

[ChocolateCoffin]

There once was a boy  from nantucket,
you cannot kill strawberryclock.

[Snapple]

There once was a french mime from nantucket
He played poker to try his luck it
dind't work out.

Gonna borrow a line from this.


There once was a man from nantucket
He played poker and tried to luck it.
His opponent was bad
But luck he sure had
The hand was lost so he mucked it.

[WeakSausClock]

There once was a boy  from nantucket,
you cannot kill strawberryclock.

Of course not! I would, ahem... never...  try something like that now would I?

[IvysaurClock]

There once was a man
from Nantucket. He loathed those
who asked about it.

[Solenoidclock]

There once was a buggy AI
Who decided her subject should die.
When the plot was uncovered,
The subjected discovered
That sadly the cake was a lie.

[TUCO CLOCK]

There once was a man named etc,
who came from the town of Nantucket.
He was morbid in life,
and quite despised his wife.
Until one day where he fell,
to the darkest depths of a well.
He hath nothing to drink ,
and could do nothing but think.
About the pocket watch he left,
to a smelly bum named Jeff.
And the comfy cardboard he did inhabit.
 
Now Jeff was alone.
he sold rag and bone,
To passers that ventured to close.
He wanted to know,
how To freeze an embryo
and grow again his friend Mr. Slow.
Mr. Slow was not slow.
He was rather fast although,
in the brain it was not so,
and he did not really know,
His arse from his elbow.
 
With etc down in a well,
and Jeff with a smell,
it was considered odd for them to meet.
When late one morn,
Jeff would abscorn,
from his life of selling rags that were torn.
He went for a walk,
And to a God he did talk.
 
He walked on the road,
as once did a toad,
but Jeff was not squashed,
he fancied a mosh,
But not with a car,
with other smellies in the bar.
 
Remembering his friend,
Jeffs moshing did end.
and he stumbled and fell,
Into a rather dark well,
quite the same as our Etc.
 
But Etc was long dead,
he left a note and it said:
Jeff you're a stinky fucking prick.