DISCLAIMER:Don't own, so don't sue! THE FOLLOWING IS A PARODY OF "THE RAVEN" BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
*The turnips on the kitchen floor scatter as a horrid looking (OK.. For the record.. being a fly on the wall when the lights are turned off isn't as easy as you might think!) creature, that couldn't be the work of nature.. The floor glowed like it was on fire, unveiling a rift in the space-time continuum . As the bright light subsided, one could make out the silhouette of something... erm... half Persian rug, part cello, part Micheganer...Cruel mix.
With a grunt and a groan it staggered towards the door leading out of the kitchen.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining chamber, I think a little poetry is in order... *cough*
This is the summary of the following events, as seen by Winston, who had accidentally eaten a Bakewell he found under the chair while vacuuming. Slightly drenched in morphine, but still good. Or so he thought...
***********************************
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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 entrance at my chamber door-
Some early visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately half Persian rug, part cello, part Micheganer 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 a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Much I marvelled this ungainly creation to hear discourse so plainly,
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing a rug above his chamber door-
Chello or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the beastie, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a carpet fiber then he shedded-
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 creature said, "Nevermore."
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"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 kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Hybrid, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if door mat 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 half Persian Rug, part cello, part Micheganer, "Nevermore."
*The turnips on the kitchen floor scatter as a horrid looking (OK.. For the record.. being a fly on the wall when the lights are turned off isn't as easy as you might think!) creature, that couldn't be the work of nature.. The floor glowed like it was on fire, unveiling a rift in the space-time continuum . As the bright light subsided, one could make out the silhouette of something... erm... half Persian rug, part cello, part Micheganer...Cruel mix.
With a grunt and a groan it staggered towards the door leading out of the kitchen.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining chamber, I think a little poetry is in order... *cough*
This is the summary of the following events, as seen by Winston, who had accidentally eaten a Bakewell he found under the chair while vacuuming. Slightly drenched in morphine, but still good. Or so he thought...
***********************************
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
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 entrance at my chamber door-
Some early visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately half Persian rug, part cello, part Micheganer 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 a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Much I marvelled this ungainly creation to hear discourse so plainly,
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing a rug above his chamber door-
Chello or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the beastie, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a carpet fiber then he shedded-
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 creature said, "Nevermore."
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"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 kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Hybrid, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if door mat 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 half Persian Rug, part cello, part Micheganer, "Nevermore."
