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HaPPY HaLLoWeen ZeRO HeDGe: Quoth The RaVeN!!!
THE RAVEN (Debts No More)
(Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven)
WilliamBanzai7
Once upon a midnight dreary, while insolvent weak and weary,
Over a balance sheet covered in a cloud of debts galore,
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.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was bleak as Lehman's September,
And each despicable creditor wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I sought more to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the abundant days of yore -
And the rare and hidden debts of toxic bailout whores -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each indentured debt just
Thrilled me - thrilled me with fantastic plastic Sino-crap never bought before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
'Tis some banksta entreating entrance at my chamber door -
My late payments entreating his entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your debt 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 scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no debt bloated mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Debts No More!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Debts No More!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, my bankrupt soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat 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 -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind of regretted debts and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly solvent 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 Subprime Croesus just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the counterclaim it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no Wall Street schemer.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering in my open chamber -
Tell me what unlordly crime now comes from those Wall Street whores!'
Quoth the raven, `Debts No More!'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no insolvent human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Debts No More.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
Those simple words, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have drowned in debt before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then again the bird said, `Debts No More.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom financial disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Debts No More."'
But the raven still beguiling all my bankrupt soul to smiling,
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 -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Debts No More.'
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bankrupt core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
He shall press, ah, Debts No More!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by the House of Greenspans's sacred liens whose foot-falls tinkled on the subprime floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy proposition of Debts No More!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this silliness of Debts No More!'
Quoth the raven, `Debts No More.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this debt spoiled land all fraudclosure haunted -
On this subprime home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there a cancer in the Bernanks brain? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Debts No More.'
`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 -
Tell this lost soul with unpaid debts laden if, within the distant Eden,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Debts No More -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Debts No More?'
Quoth the raven, `Debts No More.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the usurious shore!
Leave fraudclosure doom as a token of the words thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my credit score unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my wallet, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Debts No More.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Subprime Croesus just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is screaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my net worth from out that debtless shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted, nevermore!
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pure genius!...
,...absolutely mind boggling, your prophetic tempo of drama and reality... dress'd-up in ironic surrealism!
again,.. kind sir,
Bravo!!!
I love Corzines orange costume WB-7. It would look even better with an, "inmate- #" & "black- pinstripes"!
Quoth the Raven...Very appropriately done W7. It definitely catches the feel of a future Wall Street after the rats abandoned ship and left a dreary financial apocalypse behind.
Happy Halloween!
Indeed, they are the symbol and the scourge of
modern American life; the stuff of a profligate
and consumerist philosopy; the toxic and
ubiquitous mass of landfill waste. Together with
the lowly steel coathanger, WalMart bags have
become an everpresent reminder of the peril under
which our civilization labors. Born of the
alchemical marriage of petro-derivative science and
globalist greed, the BAG represents the Fall of the
Holy Woman Empire and the End of the Age.
Parody The Phoenix
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I shopped so weak and weary,
For many a necessity, or so I thought throughout the store,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a flapping,
As of some one quickly wrapping, wrapping up my purchased cure.
`'Tis some associate,' I muttered, ` flapping piehole at her chore -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember popping folded grocer's paper,
In my days at Sav-A-Center when I learned to bag before.
Yesterday was so much better; - I'll be no brainwashed forgetter
Of the wealth we sent to China - China seems to own the store! -
For the dream of lost America - lost when China stocked the store -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the ripping sound reminder of each plastic bagging binder
Killed me - filled me with the sense of something sucking up my country's poor.
So that now, to stop the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
'Tis some CSR entreating me to leave the store,
Some CCTV monitor drone entreating for the CSR
Or RFID tag malfunction, nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and your incoherent flapping,
And my VISA card was swiping, swiping its magnetic core,
That I scarce forgot to sign it - on the touch screen tableture; -
I forgot, and nothing more.'
Deep into the exit fleeing, after I was finished peeing,
Doubting if I'd ever get to exeunt the store;
Then a begging, larcenous Shriner sounded like a squealing whiner
Looking for an all-night diner. That is what the tips are for!
"For the St. Jude Childrens' Diner, that is what your gifts are for!
Merely this and nothing more".
Back unto my truck returning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a flapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely something flieth by my pickup's window;
Let me see then, if its nothing, ere I pass my house's door -
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; -
'Tis a bag and nothing more!'
Open then I flung the portal, unannounced to God or mortal,
In there flew with flapping chortle a bag of that aforesaid store.
Not the least utility had he, not a minute good or bad he,
But, intent to drive me mad, he rested on my kitchen floor -
Rested on the cans of tuna, down upon the kitchen floor -
Rested, flat, and nothing more.
Then this ivory bird defiling all the floor's ceramic tiling
By the useless waste of labor's skills and petrochemic lore,
'Though thy skin be torn and crinkled, thou,'I said,'art sure the wrinkled
Visage of the Beast who rises from his own decayed Manure -
Tell me what import you carry by the 'Always' nom de guerre!
Always equals "Evermore".'
Much I marvelled this foul smelling Phoenix bird of History's telling
As it rises from the swelling ashes of the earth's own Ore.
For we cannot help agreeing now that every human being
Ever yet is cursed with seeing phoenix bird on kitchen floor -
Bird with mein of 'Always' printed on its face, upon the floor,
Named by AlMart 'Evermore.'
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from the bladder's censer
Swung by Satan's spawn whose scents were tinkled on the kitchen floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy god hath lent thee - by the AlMart store has sent thee
Respite - respite and repent thee far away and off my floor!
Quaff, oh quaff this stale urine, the stench is getting on my floor,
Phoenix scriven', `Evermore.'
`Profit!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heav'n that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with madness laden if, within the distant landfill,
Ye can rest beneath the burden of an eon's worth of gore? -
Tell the years until ye perish, Vanish ye from ocean's shore?'
Quoth the phoenix, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the furnace and the Night's Plutonian store!
Leave no stench or filth of token of that lie thy name hath spoken!
'Always', leave my peace unbroken! - quit from off my kitchen floor!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!
Bird with scriven, `Evermore.'
And the baggie, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the dusty cans of tuna just beyond my kitchen door;
And his wrinkles have the seeming of a demon's visage scheming,
And the light above him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul upon that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Stays forever - Evermore!
Great poem, you have lots of skills.
I also like your latest investment :) http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/the-daily-cartoon-8117874.html?action=gallery
PURE GENIUS!
"Thriller" may be overdone, but those lyrics...
I'm thinking "Printer"
Banzai,
I detest your eccentric and senseless use of capital letters.
I suppose he's shouting like the rest of us.
WHERE IS JON CORZINE AND INVESTOR'S MONEY!?!?
dOuBlE fLuSh fOr trAvIs.
Travis nonHiP, I salute yOu fRoM my porcelin throne.
I smell a narc
I detest you back, silly sir. And take that! <smack!> You have been struck with a wet putrid noodle, taken from the mouth of a New York sewer rat who swam out of Ben Bernanke's ass after being placed there by Lloyd Bankfeind to help stimulate the economy. Take that, and that.
By their works, shall you know them.
WB7 - I quote this as a compliment as I believe/hope it is:
Poets and Mathematicians
"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the Prefect."
- EAP from "The Purloined Letter"
Re: Corzine...
"I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him."
- EAP from "The Tell-Tale Heart"
Quoth the raven, "Corzine no more"
Bravo!
Couple more gud cartoons:
http://www.udderworld.com/
your cant be serious
+1 (5 stars) for this !
Instant classic! We need a voiceover and youtube clip for this!
It might be just me, but the revulsion I feel for Corzine is far greater than that which I felt when Madoff was uncovered. There is something deeply sinister about the man and something even more sinister about those who are shielding him.
Yep, that image of Corzine makes my skin crawl.
Pure and simple....Corzine is a pig!
There are a number of reasons.
First, he is no Madoff, he was CEO of Goldman Sachs and is very well connected.
Second, he is one of the most egregious examples of the "I didn't know nuttin" CEO defense.
Third, irrespective of what that douche bag Gensler says, the MF Global scenario has not been rectified. Why? Because everything that went wrong there is essentially the way dealer banks operate.
So Corzine is the epitome of what stinks to high heaven on Wall Street: opacity, influence, corruption, lack of controls and a blatant double standard of justice.
Well said Mr. Banzai... And as always, great work ^
Wait till you see what's coming later ;-)
can't wait, Sir...
what does iceland and a seal beating have in common?
rage against the banker; ie wall street figure head of wb mentioned above issues!
corzine, yea bullseye...
This is Gunnar, he died this year at the age of 38. He was born in Iceland in 1973 an worked most of his life for the US Navy where he got his training.
He was a expert diver, diving down to 150 meters, used various tool at great depth when solving all kinds of tasks.
When i look into his eyes i see a certain wisdom and honesty i rarely see in people. Gunnar never owed anything to anyone and always paid his way.
http://www.ruv.is/frett/selurinn-gunnar-daudur
This is the life of a averige debt slave.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmGdSOhBx8E&feature=related
The debt slave has a enormous sea of information who could be used to reach the level of intellingence Gunnar had, pity its not smart enough to use it.
The world has always had its Madoffs but at times has been able to force the Corzines into the dark corners. This, to our sadness, is not one of those times.
think like an eskimo; seal beating til ariel view of ice is lite pink with 1 mile radius...
Now that is scary....
With Mitt Zombie, Pumpkin POTUS, and Johnny C Pumpkin trick or cheatin', HaLLoWeeN 2012 is the scariest shit evah!
Thanks WB7 fo' keepin' it reeel!
Brilliant! Brilliant, zinga, zinga, zinga!
Magnificanet William. Edgar A would be proud!
Good bipartisan mock and ridicule art.
ROMBIES!@
Its time to harvest the brains! Ill be in my Major Mike Bloomturd costume this year, complete with a 64 OZ big gulp, a can of Orange Flavored Pepper Spray and a water gun to put out cigarettes! Be safe out there all!
Farmer Dung be need'n a big ass garbage disposal!
There is always the compost bin of history.