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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:48 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:49 pm
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Let's start off with a bang, shall we? ^_^
I wrote this about 10 years back, when I lived with my dad and step-mom, who had a black cat named Elise. Sure, much of the poem doesn't make sense, but neither do I...
Credits to Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven"
Once I sat upon my reary, while I wondered why they're dreary,
Over many they faint, though furious from their dreaded bore-
To myself, I'm yap, yap, yapping, when suddenly I smelt a crapping,
As of someone greatly crapping, crapping on my bathroom floor.
"Tis my cat," I muttered, "crapping on my bathroom floor.
Only this and nothing more.
Distinctly I remember, that I'm a member of dismembered members,
though I killed with big blenders and their ghosts live inside my dentures!
Eagerly I wished to borrow blenders used, and members' sorrow,
For my blenders bring me sorrow-- sorrow for the lust I borrowed
For the rare and lost devices that all and all suffices
Shall be gone forever more.
And for sure I was certain, certainly certain that each person
Chilled me-- grilled me with questions I've never heard before;
So this now, to the tone of my fart, I stood repeating,
"Tis my cat demanding access to my bathroom door;
The stupid cat entices entry by scratching on the floor;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently, my temper grew bitter; hesitating none fitter,
"Elise," said I, "your hide of night I must implore,
But in this room I was here yapping, and so quickly you went crapping,
And so dumb-like you went crapping, crapping on my chamber floor,
But I knew I thought I'd smelt you." -- Here I cracked open the door--
Nothing here and nothing more.
Dark into that blackness seeing, not even the flowers inside are stirring,
Then again I smelt a crapping something sour like before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something by an odorous sibling,
Let me be then, what threatens my shiny floor--
Let my fart be still a minute from this stirry door,
Tis my wind and nothing more.
In my chair I speak with stutter, when the cat slipped on butter,
In here slipped my taintly kitty of the faintly ways of bore.
With the feast, obese is she; stopped and squat and then went pee.
But my mind is flustered, for she tinkled on my chamber floor.
Why, I ask, is she here, sprinkling on my chamber floor?
Soon she sat and nothing more.
Then the cat made me fancy a Cheshire smile,
By its innocent look, (like she hasn't done that in here before..)
"Though you smile, I cannot say," said I, "that you have not come out to play.
Your grimy presents that I have received, makes me want to implore.
Tell me why you left these on my chamber floor!
Quote the kitty, "Like before."
Much I warbled to this unsightly bowel to wear mishap quite stainly,
Though her reply isn't much-- she sure wasn't sore;
For I cannot help yapping from her eternal crapping
That stains the air with smelling of presents on my chamber floor.
Cat nor bat can do this or that upon my chamber floor
With such a phrase as "like before."
But the kitty, sitting pretty on that rug of musk, said only
That one phrase, as if it had nothing to do unlike before,
Nothing other did she utter; not a fur ball then she shuddered--
Til I scarcely more or less stuttered:
"Other fiends won't nap here, for sure,
Dear sister shall clean up my chamber floor."
Then the kitty said, "Like before."
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:50 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:50 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:51 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:54 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:55 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:57 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 1:58 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:00 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:02 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:03 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:03 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:04 pm
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Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 2:05 pm
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