Once upon a motherfucking midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a motherfucking quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a goddamn tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my lame chamber door.
“'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my piece of shit chamber door–
Only this bullshit, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember that piece of shit was in the fucking bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the fucking floor.
Eagerly I wished the fucking morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
From my motherfucking books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the fucking lost Lenore–
For the fucking rare and radiant maiden whom the fucking angels name Lenore–
Nameless here for evermore. Which is deeper, your pukey asscrack or your cheese infested vagina?
And the fucking silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled my stupid ass–filled my stupid ass with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So god-damn that now, to fuckin’ still the fucking beating of my stinky heart, I stood repeating,
“'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my shit-ass chamber door–
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my scabby chamber door;–
This bullshit that shit is, and nothing more.”
Presently my fucking soul grew stronger; hesitating then, bastard, no motherfucking longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your sorry forgiveness I implore;
But the fucking fact is I was napping, and so god-damn gently you came rapping,
And so god-damn faintly you and your hemorrhoids came tapping, tapping at my stinky chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you and your sluts”–here I opened wide the fucking door;–
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no motherfucking mortals ever dared to fuckin’ dream before;
But the fucking silence was unbroken, and the fucking stillness gave no motherfucking token,
And the only fucking word there spoken was the fucking whispered word, “Lenore!”
This bullshit I whispered, and a fuckin’ echo murmured back the fucking word, “Lenore!”–
Merely this bullshit, and nothing more.
Back into the fucking chamber turning, all my motherfucking soul within my stupid ass burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Are you ready to burn?
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my cockgobbling window lattice:
Let my stupid ass see, then, shit, fucking what thereat is, and this bullshit mystery explore–
Let my cockgobbling heart be still a fuckin’ moment and this bullshit mystery explore;–
'Tis the fucking wind and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the fucking shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a fuckin’ stately raven of the fucking saintly days of yore;
Not the fucking least obeisance made he; not a goddamn minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my fucking chamber door–
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my dirty chamber door–
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Smell the boiling flesh.
Then this bullshit ebony bird beguiling my oozing sad fancy into smiling,
By the fucking grave and stern decorum of the fucking countenance that piece of shit wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no motherfucking craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the fucking Nightly shore–
Tell my stupid ass fucking what thy lordly name is on the fucking Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the fucking Raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this bullshit ungainly fowl to fuckin’ hear discourse so god-damn plainly,
Though its answer little meaning–little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no motherfucking living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above that bastard’s chamber door–
Bird or beast upon the fucking sculptured bust above that bastard’s chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the fucking raven, sitting lonely on the fucking placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if that bastard’s soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then, piece of shit, he uttered–not a goddamn feather then, piece of shit, he fluttered–
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before–
On the fucking morrow he will leave my stupid ass, as my fucking hopes have flown before.”
Then the fucking bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the fucking stillness broken by reply so god-damn aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “fucking what that piece of shit utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till that bastard’s songs one burden bore–
Till the fucking dirges of that bastard’s Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never–nevermore’.”
But the fucking Raven still beguiling all my fellated fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a fuckin’ cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door;
Then upon the fucking velvet sinking, I betook myself to fuckin’ linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking fucking what this bullshit ominous bird of yore–
Fucking what this bullshit grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This bullshit I sat engaged in guessing, but no motherfucking syllable expressing
To the fucking fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my fucking bosom’s core;
This bullshit and more I sat divining, with my bloody head at ease reclining
On the fucking cushion’s velvet lining that the fucking lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the fucking lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the fucking air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the fucking tufted floor. I should fuck your porkhole.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee,–by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite,–respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this bullshit kind nepenthe and forget this bullshit lost Lenore!”
Quoth the fucking Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “bitch of “wonderful”!–prophet still, if bird or devil!–
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this bullshit desert land enchanted–
On this bullshit home by horror haunted–tell my stupid ass truly, I implore–
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell my stupid ass–tell my stupid ass, I implore!”
Quoth the fucking Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “bitch of “wonderful”–prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore–
Tell this bullshit soul with sorrow laden if, within the fucking distant Aidenn,
That shit shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the fucking angels name Lenore–
Clasp a motherfucking rare and radiant maiden whom the fucking angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the fucking Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked upstarting–
“Get thee back into the fucking tempest and the fucking Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no motherfucking black plume as a motherfucking token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my fucking loneliness unbroken!–quit the fucking bust above my shit-ass door!
Take thy beak from out my lame heart, and take thy form from off my stupid door!”
Quoth the fucking Raven, “Nevermore.”
And the fucking Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the fucking pallid bust of Pallas just above my stupid chamber door;
And that bastard’s eyes have all the fucking seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the fucking lamplight o’er that bastard streaming throws that bastard’s shadow on the fucking floor;
And my fucking soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the fucking floor
Shall be lifted–nevermore!
Burned by the Burnmaker!
(i feel ever so slightly guilty for this) but I Corinthians 13.
1 Though I speak with the fucking tongues of stinky assholes and of angels, but have not LOVE, I have become sounding brass or a fuckin’ clanging cymbal.
2 And though I have the fucking gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so god-damn that I could remove mountains, but have not LOVE, I am nothing.
3 And though I bestow all my fucking goods to fuckin’ feed the fucking poor, and though I give my fucking body to fuckin’ be burned, but have not LOVE, that bastard profits my stupid ass nothing.
4 LOVE suffers long and is kind; LOVE does not envy; LOVE does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no motherfucking “wonderful”;
6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the fucking truth;
7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Mind if I break your anus?
8 LOVE never fails.
Burned by the Burnmaker!
