Battle #34 May 30th, 2001 The Ravin' Author: Dacta MPR Player: Edgar Allan Pot Wait, isn't my name Edgar Allan POE? YES! But you're a DRUGGIE, so POT seems APPROPRIATE! I'm not a druggie! Why do people keep saying that? Just because I express myself creatively? Then WHAT is that BAG of GREEN LEAVES in your POCKET? Er, that's regano. LITTLE SQUIRREL appeared! LITTLE SQUIRREL took BAG! Hey, come back here with that! LITTLE SQUIRREL ate "REGANO!" LITTLE SQUIRREL died! ...well, uh, I think a squirrel's digestive system just isn't compatible with mariju--I mean regano. ...RIGHT! Isn't my poem "The Raven?" CONSIDERING that YOU'RE not REALLY EDGAR ALLAN POE, no! But... SHH! Do you want to get SUED? ::grumble:: Can we at least start? FINE! ::ahem:: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary... POT doesn't look WEAK or WEARY to the NARRATOR! NARRATOR sent POT on a ONE HUNDRED MILE HIKE! MONTHS PAST! POT returned! ::gasp:: Can't...breathe... Alright, NOW you look WEAK and WEARY! FINISH the POEM! But...I can't...breathe... Oh, for CHRIST's... NARRATOR hooked POT up to VENTILATOR! POT tried to SLIP MARIJUANA into VENTILATOR! Dammit...nothing is discreet with this damn Narrator around... Damn RIGHT! Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore... VOLUME I of QUAINT AND CURIOUS FORGOTTEN LORE fell into POT's LAP! DIRECTLY on his BALLS! POT's VOICE heightened greatly! Ow! Heavy... While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping... TAPPING sounded! As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "`Tis some visitor," I muttered, "Tapping at my chamber door: only this, and nothing more." Are you SURE? It COULD be some PERSON who has a BIG CHECK for a MILLION DOLLARS from iWIN.COM! Will you shut up?! You're totally ruining the mood! SORRY! Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December... SNOW began to FALL onto POT! ::grumble:: And each seperate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly, I wished the morrow; vainly, I had brought to sorrow, From my books of surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore... Who the HELL is LENORE? Keep listening and I might explain, dumbass! Jeez, DON'T have a COW! POT had a COW! ...But I'm a GUY! Don't QUESTION me! YOU had a BEAUTIFUL BABY BOY! ::sigh:: For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: nameless here, forevermore. Oh, so you're HITTING on an ANGEL? No, baka!! LENORE appeared! You idiot! Can't you tell from the context that Lenore is DEAD? Well, THEN! Don't have to get all INSULTING! LENORE died! Great...now I have a rotting corpse in front of me...wait, such inspiration flowing towards me! And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain... GAY PRIDE! POT hit NARRATOR! OWCH! Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating: "`Tis some visitor entreating entrence at my chamber door: Some late visitor entreating entrence at my chamber door: this is it, and nothing more." JEEZ, POE sounds like SOME sort of BAD RECORD on REPEAT! Bad record?! Yes, YOU heard ME! BAD record! Presently, my soul grew stronger; hestitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly yours forgiveness I implore; "But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, "And so faintly you came tapping--tapping at my chamber door, "That I was scarce sure I heard you--" TALK about BAD LYING! You know what I'm going to do to you, Narrator? I'm going to shove you in this box and lock it so that I can finish my poem. YOU can NEVER get rid of the NARRATOR! Watch me. POT locked NARRATOR in a BO--! ... Much better. Here I opened wide the door: darkness there, and nothing more. MUFFLED SOUNDS came from BOX! POT kicked BOX under CHAIR! Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal dared to dream before... BOX is about to EXPLODE! POT sprayed the BOX with PEPPERSPRAY! SHIT! MY EYES! Hmph. But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore." There's that BITCH LENORE again! YOU'R EIN A BOX! YOU CAN'T TALK! Oops, SORRY. I'll be QUIET now. ::sigh:: This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore,": merely this, and nothing more. Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning... For HEARTBURN, take PEPTO BISMAL! The only BRAND RECCOMENDED by DOCTORS! Soon again, I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; "Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore: `tis the wind and nothing more." WHY does EVERYONE always BLAME the INNOCENT WIND? WHAT did IT ever do to YOU? ::sob:: You know what? I'm just going to ignore you. MUAHA! Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. SAINTLY? YORE? WHAT are YOU smoking?! Pot, thank you very much! And I'd be obliged if you didn't ask! Now... Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door; Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; perched and sat, and nothing more. What a BORING PIGEON! It's a raven, you idiot! RAY. VEN. It has black feathers! Black! ...well, JEEZ! ARRGGH! ::breathe, breathe:: Then, this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancing into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the counterance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, "Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore: "Tell me that thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the raven: RAVEN: Nevermore! What a SCREWED up NAME! RAVEN: Fuck you, bore! o_O Let's not get edgy, Nevermore... RAVEN: Go do chores! Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevency bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore." NARRATOR thinks YOU'VE just had TOO MUCH POT! Well, /you/ saw it speak, too! NARRATOR isn't all that CLEAN either! Hypocrite... You BETCHA! But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul was in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further than he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered-- RAVEN began PREENING itself! DAmn raven... `Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before-- "On the morrow HE will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said: RAVEN: Vote Al Gore! That's not what you're supposed to say! You're supposed to say "nevermore!" RAVEN: Look, Mandy Moore! Ooo! Where? RAVEN: Hah, you snore! What?! No I don't! RAVEN pulled out AUDIO TAPE! RAVEN pressed PLAY! LOUD SNORING noises were HEARD! Impressive, considering it has no opposable thumbs... But this really isn't working out... YOU'RE telling ME! NARRATOR has NEVER been SHOVED into a BOX before! Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store--" Then WHY won't it SHUT UP? "Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful Disaster "Followed fast and followed faster `till his songs one burden bore-- "`Till the dirges of his Hope the melacholy burden bore of Never-nevermore!" RAVEN: Miller lite in store! Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking, FAncy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-- THERE's that YORE again, DRUGGIE! What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore, Meant in croaking "Nevermore." RAVEN: Gimme more! ::glare:: This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; YOU have a BOSOM? HA HA! NARRATOR thought EDGAR was a MALE NAME! You immature bastard! "Bosom" means CHEST! NARRATOR believes you! ::cough:: This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er... O'ER? What kind of a LAME BRITISH term is THAT? But those velvet violet lining with that lamp-light gloating o'er, SHE shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer, Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled onto the tufted floor. TINKLED on the TUFTED FLOOR? YOU need STANLY STEAMERS! TOUGH on DIRT! GENTLE on CARPETS! "Wretch!" I cried "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee... WHY are you SPEAKING all SHAKESPSEARIAN? Because it's DISTINGUISHED! Keep SAYING that! "Respite, respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! "Quaff, oh quaff this kind of nepenthe, and forgot this lost Lenore!" QUAFF? NEPNTHE? Are THOSE two TYPES of DRUGS? No! They're...oh, well, maybe they are. Isn't that a coincidence? POT laughed NERVOUSLY! Quoth the raven: RAVEN: Sail ashore! "Prophet!" said I," thing of evil!--prophet, still, if bird or devil! "Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest toseed thee here ashore, "Desolete yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted, "On this Home by Horror haunted--tel me truly I implore: "Is there, is there balm in Gilead? tell me, tell me, I implore!" NARRATOR will not even MENTION what's FUNNY about this PHRASE! Quoth the raven: RAVEN: Grow some sores! "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil, prophet still, if bird or devil! "By that Heaven, that bends above us, by that God we both adore--" By GOD, you mean the NARRATOR, right? Right. Right. ::sigh:: I meant the Narrator. "Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, "It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore. "Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven: RAVEN: Rent a whore! "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting... SIMMER! You're GOING to get HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE! YOU THINK IT ISN'T HIGH ALREADY?! ...GOOD POINT! CONTINUE! "Get thee back into the temptest and the Night's Plutonian shore!" NARRATOR figured OUT you were a DRUGGIE just about when you STARTED MENTIONING that PLUTONIAN SHORE! "Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! "Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door! "Take thy break from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the raven: RAVEN: Bad to core! And the Raven, never flittering, still is sitting--still is sitting, on the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from ou that shadow lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted--NEVERMORE! RAVEN: That's just lore. I'M SICK OF YOU, YOU FUCKING RAVEN! POT stuffed CUBAN CIGARS into RAVEN's MOUTH! POT lit them UP! RAVEN exploded into AIR! RAVEN: NEVERMOooooore.... Damn. And those were my last cigars, too. BATTLE fizzled OUT!