Bobbitt case spawns creativity in abundance


To my disgust, the fax machine began humming early in the morning, spewing out terrible limericks about the Bobbitts.

Being a highly sensitive and politically correct person, my conscience tells me to run them through the paper shredder.

But I suppose they can be of some value to psychologists, sociologists and others who study the workings of the sadistic mind.

So I will stifle my better instincts and pass them along as a service to scholars.

One of the first to arrive was the work of Chicagoan Paul Stroili:

When drinking in full regalia

Sometimes your memory will fail ya'

But John B. woke up thinking

I really must have been drinking

I have misplaced my genitalia.

Kevin Theis was man enough to express some remorse, saying: "I plead guilty to the same vileness as your lunch companions. God help me but they just popped into my head." And he wrote three of them.

Sweet Lorena did not use precision

The darkness, she said, hindered vision

She jumped on the divan

And gave husband John

An un-volunteered circumcision.

Big John B. was a creep, don't ya' know,

Whose wife gave him a horrible blow

Now the people he meets

As he walks down the streets

Say, "John Bobbitt? That old sew-and-sew."

"This case," said the cops, sure does pickle us

Searching for this man's thing does not tickle us

It was somewhere 'round here

That she threw this man's gear

But to us the whole thing is ri-dick-ulus.

Without any pangs of remorse, Jim Schaefer, of Mt. Prospect, Ill., offered this to the world:

A much-abused lady named Bobbitt

Said unto her husband, please stop it

Or I'll draw my stiletto

And chop down your palmetto

And see just how far I can lob it.

The next one came from Lake Forest, Ill. The author used only the initials A.H. Such modesty. Or maybe shame.

His technique, oh boy, it was brutal

To retrain him, she knew, would be futile

So she aimed for the tip

But the blade it did slip

And cut off the whole kit and caboodle

Peter Kendall, a journalist, made two offerings. He will have to live with himself.

Now you know that it had to sting

But no curses did poor Johnny sing

He was quite relaxed

When his manhood was axed

Guess it wasn't that big of a thing

John Bobbitt was a bit too cocky

And his marriage grew ever more rocky

Now it's true, I swear,

That in terms of underwear

He wears stitches, not boxers or jockeys.

A guy named Harold, who sounded like he was drinking his lunch, called and said: "I wrote a couple, but I don't have a fax and the mail takes too long. Can I just read them to you?" And he did:

A fellow named John went out drinking

When he finally got home he was thinking

He would give his sweet wife

The big thrill of her life

Alas, the means to this end was soon shrinking.

Pausing only to take another swallow, he went on:

It's not sinful to hit a few bars

And to drink beer 'til the pre-dawn hours

But he lurched to his bed

With sheer lust in his head

Now when he meets a new gal he just cowers.

"OK?" Harold said. "What'ya think? Not bad, huh? I never wrote limericks before." I wished him a happy lunch.

The next contribution was faxed from George, who said: "Don't use my full name. My wife takes this thing seriously and we haven't been getting along. I don't want to be next."

They're making plans in movie-land

For a film about Lorena's sleight-of-hand

Whether it's funny or sad

One thing makes me glad

I don't have to be Bobbitt's stunt man.

And from Larry Meekma in Oak Lawn, Ill., we have this:

The legend of Bobbitt is growing

It's a story well worth the knowing

He offended his wife

So she took up her knife

And put an end to his coming and going.

I will end it with this anonymous contribution:

This story is just so much flotsam

Appealing to those who are rotten

I know that don't rhyme

But I don't have the time

As a journalist you have hit bottom.

To which I must respond:

I'll admit that I wasn't too keen

About dwelling on a topic so mean

But do I really havta

Write about NAFTA

When the nation is obsessed by John's wien?

Copyright © 2021, The Baltimore Sun, a Baltimore Sun Media Group publication | Place an Ad