Announcing the Harry Reid Cowboy Limerick Contest

by editor on March 9, 2011


Congratulations to Mic Tienken for this winning entry:

There once was a cowboy named Reid

Who’s nanny state filled every need

Till they ran out of money

And it wasn’t too funny

When he found out that rocks just don’t bleed

Our odds of surviving this fiscal crisis are lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut (nice western imagery, huh?), but Harry Reid can’t find a single thing to cut from the federal budget. Not even funding for a cowboy poetry festival in Elko, Nevada.

So in honor of the Nevada Democrat and the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, we want you to put on your ten-gallon thinking caps and write a Harry Reid Cowboy Limerick.

Rules: All limericks must include some reference to both Harry and cowboys. Leave your entries in the comments section. Deadline for entries is midnight PST, Sunday, March 13. Winner gets an T-shirt or coffee mug.

Here’s one to get you pointed in the right direction, buckeroo.

There once was a man from Nevada
Who said that we should cut nada
“The budget is fine
Let’s let cowboys rhyme
And spend the whole enchilada”

Please note the remarkable maturity we showed in not pointing out the stupidity of Harry’s words in the above video clip.

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The winner is being determined…

G Man
G Man

Old Harry he is a strange bloke,
‘Thinks cutting the budget’s a joke
We need money – let’s fight,
As the cowboys recite,
And the red ink becomes a red sea.

DK in Virginia
DK in Virginia

Over the hill pranced the great Harry Reid
Dressed and polished in his natty pressed tweed
As he scampered along he stopped to adore
What appeared to be a girl who was really a whore
With hat in deft hands he asked “What is it you need?”

“A job” she sobbed with wet pretty eyes
“But mine was lost as a result of the lies”
“Oh dear” Harry cried as he dropped his felt brim
And leered at the legs so luscious and slim
He snatched up the hat and followed with surmise

With a glint in his eye and a vapid sly twirl
He asked “how bout a job you pretty young girl?”
With a smile she blurted “You pay money for me?”
Harry gulped and nodded as the girl danced with glee
She then grinned a smile with stretched finger in curl

Harry preened and drooled as she lowered her pants
But knew he had been fooled at just a quick glance
He shriveled at the sight of the fancy bright shield
And knew in an instant that his fate had been sealed
His mind working quickly to think of a chance

“But I’m a senator” he blurted and thought through a deal
But the girl shook her head and said “It’s too late to repeal”
So back over the hill stumbled the once great Harry Reid
Not so nattily dressed since he’d soiled his tweed
For he knew no decent cowboy would rescue both a twit and a shill

Jo Anne Moretti
Jo Anne Moretti

Harry Reid from the Senate
Demanded cowboy poetry, and he meant it!
When Congress said nope
He did act like a dope
So now we all know he’s demented!

Jo Anne Moretti
Jo Anne Moretti

Old Harry , He was quite a Bloke.
The cowboys he did want to poke.
But the tax was too high
So they had to say bye
On that he did nearly choke!


Thought perhaps you’d like an entry in cartoon form.
Well, okay … two cartoons:


Dear Harry,

To the Senate’s sole protector of the noble rhyming set,
The patron of our poems, the bard’s own baronet:
In hand I take my laptop, to pen a piffling plea
For your assistance, Harry, in setting my art free.

I know I have a talent. I know I have a gift.
But how am I to versify amidst the graveyard shift?
My foreman is a hater, who’s never heard a rhyme.
He cares but for production, and works me double-time.

My wife has found a lawyer, my income to divest;
I’ll soon be old and single, alone and dispossessed.
I haven’t slept a wink at night for nigh on thirteen years,
My writing surely suffers; I’m shunned by all my peers.

I know I can’t write cowpoke, or tell Nevada tales,
My verses tend to run to sea, with boats and ships and whales.
But, Harry, I am desperate, I need to get away;
A Cowboy Poe’try Gath’rin would surely light the way.

I heard you swore off earmarks – at least the public kind –
That Washington is broken, and Congress is maligned.
The GOP is fighting to tighten up the purse,
And every week the jobs report is pointing bad to worse.

But cinch not yet those purse strings, and rope not yet that cash.
Let’s herd a little bill on through before the markets crash.
We’ll call it Jobs for Poets, funneled through the NEA
To get me to Nevada, or perhaps, at least, halfway.

I’m counting on you, Harry. Keep up the fight that’s good!
Stand tall like old Horatius. Be brave like Robin Hood.
For hist’ry doesn’t give a hoot if budgets did survive.
It only cares of poetry and whether Art’s alive.


The cowboy from Searchlight is Harry
Mean spirited republicans make him wary
When Cowboy Poetry’s challenged
he becomes mentally damaged
and his behavior turns decidedly hairy !


There once wasn’t a cowboy named Harry
His timid mumblings were quite contrary
He lies through his teeth
Much like a queef
(Hint: that comes from the hole that is hairy)

Harry Reid is an enormous doof
His demeanor is more than aloof
He thinks he’s so great
He unionized his state
Now his stupidity needs no more proof

To Harry, a cowboy’s a joke
For votes their ego he strokes
But out on the range
His story does change
When he really does become a cowpoke!

Slim Pickens
Slim Pickens

There once was a Cowboy named Harry
His fiscal policies quite scary
He’d ream hookers with zeal
Then like a pig he’d just squeal
“No poetry, no peace!” same as Barry



Grammar Fuhrer
Grammar Fuhrer

This poem definitely gets my vote.


Old Harry the joke
Narry the cowboy poke
Who cares about taxes
Don’t bring down the axe’s
It’s done for the folk


@OldWeaselHead – good one!!!! You roped and branded them all!


Harry – mouth open wide as a bung
Hoping for a taxpayer that’s well hung.
Squeezing dollars from the source
Hoping the taxpayers life will never reach it’s end course.
Harry- a cowboy running wild on the ranch
In hot water, his ass they should blanch.
In case you have not heard
Old Harry’s nuttier than a squirrel turd.


Some cowpokes with poetic tastes
Eat pork by taxpayers’ grace.
“Keep ’em fed!” Harry cried, but Tea Partiers will fight
Anthropogenic Government Waste!


It will be a great day
When our soldiers can say

They have enough cash
As our enemies they smash

And the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering has to hold a bake sale because Harry Reid won’t give it any of his own money.

(Under ObamaCare, I have a Constitutional Right to meter and rhyme a limerick any way I want!)