Once upon a midday boiling, while I squandered, slaves were toiling,
Eating many a rank and distasteful pie of forgotten gore,
While I plodded, my work boring, suddenly there came a gnawing,
As of someone madly sawing, sawing through my office floor.
" 'Tis some slurg," I muttered, "gnawing at my office floor;
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, there were hot and glowing embers,
Each one- it was a member of the fire in the tar.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my brew surcease of sorrow, sorrow for my lost moolah,
For the great and superb profits which we Glukkons name moolah,
Lost to me forevermore.
As the turning of the axeman with the coming of the taxman,
Billed me, filled me with astounding anger never felt before;
So that now, to quell the greeting of my fart, I stood from seating,
" 'Tis some slurg consuming offal beneath my office floor,
Or perhaps some visitor knocking at my office door.
One of these, and nothing more."
Shortly my quarma grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Gluk," said I, "or Vykker, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was drinking, and I wasn’t really thinking,
And I think my head needs shrinking, sinking through the marble floor,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;
Vendos there, and nothing more.
Keeping to the Vendos nearing, long I stood there, wondering, leering
Doubting, thinking things no Glukkon ever dared to think before;
But the droning was unbroken, and the glowing gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the grunted word,
"Yello?" This I hollered and an echo bellowed back the word,
"Yello!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the office turning, my confidence was then returning,
Soon again I heard a cussin’, squealing louder than before,
"For sure," said I, "For sure, that is something at my window trellis.
Let me see, then, without malice, and this secrecy explore.
Let the glass be clean a moment, and this privacy explore.
" 'Tis the sligs, and nothing more."
Open window without fussing, when, with many a crass and cussin’,
In there bounced a vulgar Chippunk, of the Clakker ways I saw.
Not the least of respect made he; not a moment stopped or stayed he;
But with air of Cheese or Glockstar, perched above my office door.
Perched upon a bust of Drippik, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and shat, and nothing more.
Then this dirty rat befouling my expression into growling,
But the arrogant custom of its expression did not wore,
"Though thy nose be short and sunk thou," I said, "art sure no still drunk,
Ghastly, dim, and filthy Chippunk, drifting through the window’s door.
Tell me what the oddly game is on the Magog Cartel law."
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore, stupid."
Much I marvelled this clumsy punk to hear insult me plainly,
Though its retort little meaning, the rodent said no more;
For we cannot help agreeing that most living Gukkon beings
Ever yet was cursed with seeing rats above his office door,
Beast or ammo on the sculptured bust above his office door,
With such name as "Nevermore…stupid?"
But the Chippunk, sitting lonely on that fugly bust, spoke only,
Those two words, as if his quarma in those two words he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not an insult had he muttered;
Offered cornbread that was buttered, "Other rats have ate before;
By tomorrow he will leave me, bugger off via the door."
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore, stupid!"
The silence was then broken and the fleech downstairs awoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "its life outside, it must have been a bore,
But the premise of this fable, I am really quite unable,
To explain just why this fable is, if truth be told, quite poor,
How many verses still unspoken can this poem have in store?"
Quoth the Chippunk, "Seven more. Stupid."
But the Chippunk still befouling my bad quarma into growling,
Straight I nosed a velvet chair in front of rat, and bust and door;
Then, upon the cushion sinking, I betook myself to linking
Passion into fury, thinking what this vulgar Chippunk saw
What this dim, uncouth, ill-mannered and vulgar rodent poor
Meant in stating "Nevermore."
So there we sat I am confessing, wond’ring what it meant expressing
Claiming "stupid" I am guessing, to chill my ego to the its core
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the couch’s silken lining that the chant orb floated o'er,
But whose silken lining with the chant orb floating o'er
Will be a mess, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, poisoned from an unseen censer
The smoke from the chimney’s seeping in beneath the door.
"Rat!" I cried, "thy Odd hath lent thee -- by these varmints it hath
Sent thee respite- relief and distract from thy memories of moolah!
Drink, O drink this kind SoulStorm, and forget this lost moolah!"
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore! Stupid."
"Varmint!" said I, "thing of nuisance! Varmint still, if rat or rodent!
Whether Sekto sent, or whether Stranger flung thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this arid land enchanted-
This bureau by finance haunted, tell me truly, I implore:
Is there-is there brew in Buzzarton? Tell me- tell me I implore!"
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore, stupid"
"Bastard!" said I, "thing of anger, bastard still, if turd or faeces!
By that fan that spins above us, by moolah we both adore-
Tell this Gluk with fury signed, if, within your minuscule mind,
It shall clasp some other kind, some other words of lore-
Clasp some other madcap phrases, to utter perhaps, or-"
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore, stupid."
"Be those words our sign of parting, rat or fiend!" I screeched, while farting-
"Get thee back into the desert and off the Magog Cartel’s floor!
Leave no brown hair as a token of that lie thy quarma’s spoken!
Leave my brew machine unbroken! Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy tooth from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Chippunk, "Nevermore, stupid!"
And the Chippunk, never fitting, still is shitting, still is shitting
On the dripping bust of Drippik just above my office door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a Vykker's that is scheming.
And the skylight o'er him streaming pitch his shadow on the floor;
And my brew from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted…nevermore!
...Stupid…
The Chippunk
WHEEEEEEE!!!
