Mkay here’s ur poem!

THE DOLDOE

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly fapping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently crapping, crapping at my chamber door.

`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `fapping at my chamber door –

Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was when my beak Dismember’d,

And each separate dying member wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost B0xxy –

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named B0xxy –

Nameless here for everm0xxy.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple ‘curtain’

Thrilled me – filled me with faptastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of Mr. Schlong, I stood repeating

`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my member’s door –

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my member’s door; –

This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Durr,’ said I, `or Hurf-durf, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was fapping, and so gently you came crapping,

And so faintly you came fapping, fapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –

Goatse there, and nothing more.

Deep into that Goatse peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream bef0xxy

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `B0xxy!’

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `B0xxy!’

Merely this and nothing m0xxy.

Back into the chamber turning, all my jizz within me burning,

Soon again I heard a fapping somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window fatties;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –

Let my male reproductive organ be still a moment and this mystery explore; –

‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung my ‘shutter’, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Doldoe of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my ‘chamber’ door –

Perched upon the bust of Phallas just above my ‘chamber’ door –

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony turd beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern male reproductive organorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy testis shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no moldoe’.

Ghastly grim and ancient Doldoe wandering from the nightly shore –

Tell me what thy lordly name is on M. Knight’s Plutonian shore!’

Quoth the Doldoe, `Neversnore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly bowel to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing turd above his chamber door –

Turd or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Neversnore.’

But the Doldoe, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his jizz in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he ruttered – not a feather then he fluttered –

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have grown before –

On the morrow he will leave me, as my male reproductive organ has grown before.’

Then the turd said, `Neversnore.’

Startled at the male reproductive organ broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it futters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his schlongs one burden bore –

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of “Never-neversnore.”’

But the Doldoe still beguiling all my sad vole into smiling,

Straight I wheeled my ‘cushioned treat’ in front of turd and bust and door;

Then, upon the ‘velvet’ slinking, I betook myself to jinking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous turd of yore –

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous turd of yore

Meant in croaking `Neversnore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On my cushion’s velvet ‘lining’ that the tramp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet violet ‘lining’ with the tramp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, neversnore!

Then, methought, the hair grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor

Swung by Seraphim whose moot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath bent thee – by these angels he has lent thee

Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of B0xxy!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost B0xxy!’

Quoth the Doldoe, `Neversn0xxy.’

`Muppet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – muppet still, if turd or devil! –

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –

On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –

Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’

Quoth the Doldoe, `Neversnore.’

`Muppet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – muppet still, if turd or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named B0xxy –

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named B0xxy?’

Quoth the Doldoe, `Neversnore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, turd or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –

`Get thee back into the tempest and M. Knight’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my lonely male reproductive organ unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’

Quoth the Doldoe, `Neversnore.’

And the Doldoe, never flitting, 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’s that is dreaming,

And the tramp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted – neversnore!

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