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The Shattered submitted 2009.07.07 11:11 AM by Thornicus viewed 2886 times

I'm bored this morning, so I did a minor rewrite of an old parody of Poe in a tribute to shatteredstars - thinking maybe that some trochaic octameter might bring her back from hibernation.

Samantha, wherever ye may be, we miss ya. Come back and write for us...

Logged upon a website dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore ?
While I pondered, nearly posting, suddenly I sensed a boasting,
As of some one gently ranking, ranking stories that don't bore.
"'Tis some alter," I did mutter, "ranking stories that don't bore ?
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was the eleventh hour,
And each separate dying alter wrought its wrath amidst the roar.
Eagerly I wished Most Heated; ?vainly I had fought and bleated
From my shitposts filled of sorrow ? sorrow for those lost before ?
For the rare and radiant maidens labeled by the rest as slore ?
Nameless here forever more.

And the soiled laborious writing of each author unexciting
Most unskilled - they filled me with fantastic terrors felt before;
So that now, to still the upload of my story, I stood stating,
"'Tis some alter or new user anxious for the tales of yore ?
Some dumb alter or new user anxious for the tales of yore;
This it is and nothing more."

As I wrote, my wit grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
"N00b", said I, "or mayh3m, truly your good patience I implore;
But the fact is I was wanking, and so gently you came ranking,
And so gently you came ranking, ranking stories that don't bore,
That I scarce was sure I saw you"?here I checked my posts of yore ?
Previous hits and nothing more.

Deep into my laptop peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming tales that Uber might have never dreamt before;
But the CPU lay idle, and my thoughts turned suicidal,
To the lonely, distant memories of those maidens lost before.
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back most softly, "Slore!"?
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the pulseHEAD turning, all my bile within me churning,
Soon again I sensed a boasting somewhat stronger than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is Flack or someone of great status;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore ?
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; ?
'Tis a n00b or nothing more."

So as my post I submitted, then, with entrance not permitted,
There appeared a stately user with a feminine rapport.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of badassmofo, ranked and camped out on my yore ?
Ranked with sultry heated fervor, camping out upon my yore ?
Ranked, and camped, and nothing more.

Then the woman, named Samantha, offered up her propaganda,
As I sat befuddled, paralyzed upon my home's veranda.
"Since thy crotch be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art surely maven,
For your breasts most firm and large on pulseHEAD I have seen before ?
Tell me what thy holy purpose is for camping on my yore!"
Quoth Samantha, " Do me more."

Much I marveled at the phrasing of this mammal most amazing,
Though her answer little meaning?little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing Sam sprawled on his bedroom floor ?
Beast or bird with such a perfect bust upon his bedroom floor,
With such name as "Do me more."

Still Samantha, sitting lonely on my newborn post, spoke only
That one phrase, as if its soul in that one phrase she did outpour
Nothing further then she uttered; nothing further then she sputtered ?
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other girls have come before ?
On the morrow you will leave me, as the maidens of before."
Then the girl said, "Do me more."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what she utters is that typical of slore,
Desperate for some attention that with proper intervention
Could have saved her purity for someone she would adore.
Yet the dirges of her Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Do me - do me more.'"

As I sat there still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Suddenly she showed up unexpectedly outside my door;
Then, upon the sofa sinking, I betook myself to thinking
What Samantha might prefer - would she like soft porn or hardcore?
What was going through the mind of this female with such rapport
As she uttered, "Do me more?"

With my eyes upon her staring, young Samantha stood there baring
All from head to toe to bosom as she lingered on my floor.
This and more I found most gripping, whilst the girl before me stripping
Sat upon the cushion by me that the candles gloated o'er,
With a look of passion, then a flurry of esprit de corps,
As she stated, "Do me more!"

Then, methought, the air grew thicker, as she tempted me to dick her,
Swinging both her mammary glands before me whilst she knelt down on the floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee?by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite?respite and nepenthe from thy memories of slore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget those lost before!"
Quoth Samantha, " Do me more."

"Temptress!" said I, "thing of evil! ? temptress still, if bear or devil! ?
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this website that you've haunted ?
On my post in which you've flaunted ? tell me truly, I implore ?
Truly ? truly, do you want me? ? tell me ? tell me, I implore!"
Quoth Samantha, " Do me more."

"Temptress!" said I, "thing of evil! ? temptress still, if bear or devil!
By that Tim that moderates us - by that Tim we both adore -
Tell me with no reservation if, exempting masturbation,
I shall have a sainted maiden whom the angels named before -
Yes, a rare and radiant maiden of the oft remembered slore."
Quoth Samantha, " Do me more."

"Take your legs I now see parting and prepare, " I shrieked, upstarting,
"for a mighty penis of the likes you've never seen before!"
Then submitting, never stopping, on my third leg she was propping
Up her luscious frame for nigh upon five hours, never sore.
As I crumpled on my davenport, near hinting at a snore,
Sam doth quothed, "Do me more."

Still Samantha, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
With her ample bust and figure waiting by my chamber door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a mistress that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er her streaming throws her shadows on the floor;
And my soul recalls that sweet refrain from fortnights long before,
As she utters, "Do me more!"

rating: 13

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