Epic Limerick Cycle
Written by: Mark Bollman, Steve Donohue and Jeff Rand

The epic limerick cycle is actually the first series of poems ever written for Winter Camp. It began as a late night discussion between Mark Bollman-->, Steve Donohue and Jeff Rand and culminated with the three of them writing the initial series. Initially, the series was prepared for Winter Camp XVIII, and the data for Winter Camp XVIII was just predictions, not one of which came true.

In fact, there were alternate limericks written as both Steve and Mark attempted to maintain the tradition. Mark's set has been adopted as the official version, but the alternate versions are listed below for your edification

Alternate Limericks

For eighteen we’ll try to foresee
what the memorable moment might be
there’ll be no one who
to our camp is new
and we won’t hear from Little Ozzie

At eighteen we found out too late,
that we really can’t prognosticate.
We had somene new,
and that damn Ozzie too
leaving us with an O for O rate.

But lord, we won’t learn our lesson,
for now at 19 we’re a guessing
We’ll have about 25
Ten of whom were not alive
As Winter Camp I was progressin’

The Real Cycle

"Winter Camp?" said I to my son,
"Why yes, I saw number one"
I said it with pride
and his eyes grew wide
as I told him of what we’d begun.

The next year we held number two
as it seemed the right thing to do.
There were seven more
plus five from before
As only Tom Conroy withdrew

At three we had quite a crowd
The cabin? Unbearably loud.
There were twenty-five men
but never again
Was filling the cabin allowed.

For four we became as a troop
with an SPL leading our group
Of patrols there were three
of varying morality
And the Reivers souls went to poop.

At five we were communist
and our salaries appeared on a list
It wasn’t bad work
and there was a small perk
as the Catholic ivy did twist

Six had but one great event
for millions of dollars were spent
as we bought enough soda
to flood North Dakota
for shopping adults were absent.

At seven we lacked for a head
though the first one did not turn up dead.
So we held an election,
and made our selection;
The last time we’ll do that. ‘nuff said.

The korish presided at eight
as new themes became our fate
the world is a sphere
and while we are here
Outside it we can not migrate.

At nine, since the Cag did us wrong
we destroyed him in story and song.
We ripped out his heart,
burned each other part,
and cheered his demise loud and long.

Big Bro called the shots the tenth year,
there were just a few words he would hear
There were words with one part
so speech was an art
and some were less loud -- that was clear.

Oh eleven most auspicious time
For news you’re unusually prime
You saw lots of papers
though they were truth rapers
whose publishing now seems a crime.

At twelve we broke some new ground
as our first time capsule was found
There were some things inside
which were eaten with pride
while the rest to the earth were re-bound.

Triskadecaphobia did not cross our mind
as a huge project the rangers did find
but we had an edge
(The beast with a sledge)
and in the dust they were left behind.

Fourteen saw rebirth in the arts
(along with some disgusting farts)
Our logo was new,
(the chili was too
and spices sent it off the charts).

At fifteen we moved up the clock
to match our new standard ad hoc
if gave us more day
for our trebuchet
which cast forth a very small rock.

At sixteen our new king did reign
he ruled o’er a weekette of rain
the camp was so wet
that with deep regret
from service we had to refrain.

At seventeen we had quite a "Trek"
as we reviewed hobbies and drek
a novel was written
and several were smitten;
there own writing talents to check.

We raided BC without care
As eighteen was a pirate affair.
T'was no snow on the ground,
But new madness was found.
Unexpectedly, Ozzie was there.

Nineteen conquered new worlds of fun
In the Viking Olympics: Day One.
Like the tail of a comet,
The snow streaked with vomit
Bore witness to what we had done.

The twentieth crew was most yet
As 41 joined the weekette.
An anniversary bash
Saw investments pay cash,
And full-timers blue T-shirts did get.

When Winter Camp hit legal drinking age
Invaders from beyond were all the rage.
Were aliens there?
And if so, did we care?
The answers were found on our Web page.

At 22 the planners did present
A different theme for every day's events.
Winter Camp Classics gave way
To Star Wars and Canada, eh?
And our new stove cost thousands of cents

Our twenty-third camp was turned loose
With theme days from Tron to Doc Seuss.
There were hats that were tall
Crowd-and profit-not small
A third cabin might have been of use.

At twenty-four, movies were chic
As themes for the days and the week.
High Point cabin was used
For several to snooze
And a patch as a prize some did seek.

One hundred sixty-two dishes
At one meal, we ate flesh, birds, and fishes.
In our twenty-fifth year
There was something quite clear:
The Rand Stew would be most delicious.

At twenty-six, campers came back
To a limitless market for snacks.
Cups O' Plenty were new
Filled with Kupser's home brew
And Winter Camp U. was a fact.

By the time 27 came 'round
There were no cans of pop to be found.
Clues were dropped from a plane
Which took work to explain,
And a lot of big pins were knocked down.

The cycle for now at it’s end.
Though new poets its story must wend
For as you know Son,
the camping’s not done
as til doomsday we plan to extend.

An alternate for XXVI:

At twenty-six, gastric distress
Quite a few campers did test.
Toilets got to flowin'
as Chunks were a blowin'
as both ends had viral duress.

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