Me? I’m a hermit. To be more precise, I’m a hermit monk. And yeah, that dirty limerick that begins with the line “There once was a hermit named Dave…” is allegedly about me.
If you’re familiar with the remainder of that bit of depraved doggerel, let me assure you that there is not now, nor has there ever been, a sex worker — deceased, or otherwise — here in my humble cave.
If you’re not already familiar with the classic degenerate limerick to which I refer, allow me the dubious honor of being the one to introduce it to you now:
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
“I know it’s a sin,”
He said with a grin,
“But think of the money I save!”
As I said, there is absolutely no truth in those allegations. And although I can’t prove it, I believe that this vicious bit of baseless slander was started by some jealous monk after I left Ye Olde World Order years ago. So there.
Let me refer to the monk whom I suspect of inventing this perverse libel/slander as “Brother Bob.” (That’s “Bob” spelled with just one “O” by the way.) I suspect “Brother Bob with just one O” because of the form and structure of this particular put-down. Bob was keen on making rhymes, especially within the limerick genre. And it is my belief that BB was a miserly pervert. With that in mind, note how the narrative of the limerick focuses on the budget-conscious, money-saving aspect rather than any bent sexual drive as the sole motivation for having intercourse with a deceased prostitute. And in the poem, neither the alleged perp/hermit nor the limerick’s narrator ever considers the act of necrophilia to be aberrant psycho-sexual behavior. Nope, the emphasis is on money. Too kinky. Too characteristic of that fat and miserly, fornicating friar “Brother Bob with just one O” methinks.
And besides, Bob was forever jealous of me ’cause God always liked me best.
And so it goes.
*****
As a hermit, I tend not to meet many people during the course of my daily devotions and the rest of my meager cave-dwelling existence. However, when I do have to interact with some new soul, almost without fail, the new acquaintance will recall the limerick after learning that I’m a “hermit named Dave.”
And, almost without fail, each new acquaintance will attempt to recite the poem, easily recalling the first, second, and fifth lines, but unable to access the second couplet. Such a recitation typically goes like this:
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
Da da da da da.
Da da da da da.
“But think of the money I save!”
I wondered why most people have trouble remembering the second couplet. Then, in doing some research on the matter, I discovered that there are many variants of the “Hermit named Dave” limerick. And most of the variations between versions occur in that elusive second couplet. It all reminds me of the chicken-or-egg conundrum. Do variations arise because the original second couplet was less-than-memorable? Or, is the second couplet made nebulous in one’s memory due to random exposure to variations? (One of the Great Mysteries of Our Time!)
Following are just some of the variants that I’ve discovered:
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
She smelled like shit,
And was missing a tit.
But think of the money he saved.
•
There was an old hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
Said Dave, “What the hell…
You get used to the smell,
And think of the money you save!”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave
Kept a dead prostitute in a cave.
“I have to admit,
She smells just a bit.
But think of the money I save!”
•
There was an old hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
He said, “I admit
I’m a bit of a shit.
But think of the money I save.”
•
There was once a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
He said, “Yes, she smells
And is ugly as hell,
But think of the money I save!”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
Though he kept her on ice,
She didn’t smell nice.
But just think of the money he saved.
•
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
Dave said, “When they’re dead,
They give lousy head.
But think of the money I save.”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
He said, “I admit it sounds shitty,”
As he sucked a blue titty,
“But just look at the money I save.”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
She was missing one tit,
And smelled like old shit,
But think of the money he saved!
•
There was an old hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
You have to admit
He hadn’t much wit.
But look at the money he saved!
•
There once was a hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
He said with a grunt,
“It’s mighty cold cunt.
But, think of the money I save.”
•
There was an old hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
She was ugly and old,
And moldy, and cold.
But, think of the money he saved!
•
There was an old hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
She made quite a stink.
But Dave said, “Just think
Of all of the money I save!”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
She would, in time, rot.
But that bothered him not.
He just thought of the money he’d save.
•
There was an old hermit named Dave.
He dug a dead whore from her grave.
She was moldy as shit,
And also missing a tit.
But think of the money he’d save.
•
There once was a hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
“Yeah, she’s a mighty cold fuck.
But she don’t cost a buck,
So just think of the money I save.”
•
There once was a hermit named Dave,
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
Dave said, “Yes, I know
She’s a mighty cold ho.
But think of the money I save.”
*****
Following is a pertinent quote from an article on the Bufo Marinus Toad. It reveals how someone’s (Brother Bob’s?) lies about me have inadvertently become an institutionalized desecration of my good name in both biological and behavioral fields of study within the international scientific community. I quote:
…necrophilia in scientific literature is often called Davian behavior.
It was named by R.W. Dickerman who first noted necrophilia in
ground squirrels. He named the behavior after Dave of a dirty limerick
about a hermit that kept a dead whore in his cave.
Scientists who reviewed his paper didn’t question the Davian label
until after it was published and by that time it was too late to object
to Dickerman’s highly unscientific label. It was part of the lexicon.
Among ducks, it’s often called Avian Davian Behavior….
(Try saying that fast three times: Avian Davian Behavior, Avian Davian Behavior, Avian Davian Behavior. Whew! And does anyone else besides me find the construction of that last phrase to be unintentionally humorous? “Among ducks, it’s often called…” Har, har, har. To my mind that sorta syntax suggests the image of, say, Donald Duck and Daffy Duck having a sober-but-soon-wacky discussion about necrophilia. And surely, Daffy’s patented “You are despicable!” catch-phrase would be appropriate at some time during such a discussion. Don’t you think, or don’t you? “Avian Davian Behavior,” indeed! Why not: The Dead Duck F…? Forget that. Okay? But “Avian Davian Behavior,” indeed! —Bro. Dave)
(Discoveries made by legitimate scientists are often traditionally named after those scientists. Thus: Newtonian Physics, Kepler’s Laws, Darwinian Evolution, Einstein’s Relativity, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. It is not uncommon for a lifetime of meticulous and tedious work to have gone into each of so many of the discoveries upon which our modern, technological era is founded. None can doubt that Einstein, for example, deserves name-recognition for his life’s work in physics, especially with regard to Relativity. And Einstein took responsibility for his hard work, too. If and when he found a flaw in his earlier work, he did not say, “Oops! Take my name off that, bitte.” Nope, he continued to accept ownership of his earlier work while also striving steadfastly to correct and/or otherwise resolve any problems as they were identified. …Well, now, let’s turn our attention to the aforementioned behavioral science student R.W. Dickerman. Was he ashamed to have his name directly associated with necrophilia, or was he too insecure to accept responsibility for his work? I mean, “Dickerman Behavior” could just as easily have been used to name necrophilic activity among chipmunks, et al. But no, my guess is Dickerman didn’t want to sully his name. So then, latching onto a degenerate limerick as an out, Dickerman casually besmirched my good name. [What a rat-bastard!] I mean, limerick aside, associating Dickerman’s surname directly with necrophilia would be appropriate because [1.] he was the discoverer-of-record, the first to scientifically document sex between extant and roadkill ground squirrels, and because [2.] a simple pneumonic device, perhaps just as memorable as a dirty limerick, could be used by students of animal behavior when taking tests in high school and/or college: So, Chip says to Dale, “Yeah, this chipmunk chick is dead, dude. But, hey, it’s still okay to dick ‘er, man.” [Ha! How d’ya like them apples, Dickerman!? Not so fun when someone screws around with your name, is it? “Davian Behavior,” indeed!] —Bro. Dave)
*****
And so it goes.
Well, you’ve heard/read the slanderous/libelous limerick (plus several variations thereof). And now you know my side of the story, too.
I’ll trust your instincts to guide you, Dear Pilgrim, in deciding where the truth lies.
— Brother “I am not now, nor have I ever been, a necrophiliac! And, hey, I wouldn’t be caught dead associating with one either! So there!” Dave
*****
PS: Dammit! Damn it all to hell! Can you believe it!? After re-reading all those lame limericks listed above, I was suddenly shocked to discover that I — spontaneously, inadvertently, without willful criminal intent or malice aforethought — had made up my own vile Davian limerick variant. It just popped into my head, I swear. Poof! Jeez. FYI:
There once was a hermit named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in his cave.
“Since she doesn’t get paid,
But still I get laid,
I score twice each time I misbehave.”
Ka-Ching!
Oh, the humanity!
Okay, so it may be contemptible and counterproductive for me to have created my own Davian limerick. But consider this: Although my rhyme is still just one more piece of off-colored doggerel, it is revolutionary in two ways when compared to all the pre-existing Davian limerick variants. 1: Unlike all the other limericks that put their main emphasis on a miserly motivation for having relations with a deceased sex worker, my new fifth line puts sexual gratification on equal footing with the money-saving reward of being a Dave who’s also a tight-wad necrophilic John. And, 2: Unlike all the other limericks, mine is the only one that concludes with a rhyming word other than “save” or “saved.” So, while it’s no excuse for my lapse in judgment and in good behavior, there’s still something to be said for being groundbreaking and genuinely-revolutionary in something, I suppose.
— Brother “I’m now so ashamed to have apparently joined The Dark Side in besmirching my own good name, dammit!” Dave
*****
PPS: Oh, yeah, if you would care to see the clever way in which I’ve tortured the “Hermit Named Dave” limerick in an effort to seek some sense of sweet revenge, check out the “Language Translation Service: Translate from English to Spanish, French, German, Italian, Dutch, Portuguese, and Norwegian, or vice versa,” posted elsewhere on this site. (Sure, you can read that whole page, if you wanna. But if you’re too impatient to wait for some sadistic bloodsport, all the limerick torturing begins just a little past halfway down the page.)
— Brother “Revenge is mine! Oh, yes! Revenge is sweet and it is mine!” Dave
