Three limericks

A chicken was down on her luck: She was caught and her feathers all plucked, Then baked at one-eighty And served up with gravy, So never again did she cluck.

Rupert and some of his chums Ate a punnet of out-of-date plums. They thought they were fine Until quarter to nine, When they all got a case of the runs!

A young man approached me and said, “I seem to have misplaced my head. Now people just stare, Or will run from me, scared." ...It turned out the man was quite dead.