Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I grinded, buzzed and bleary,
On an NL50 table as I'd often done before,
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
vainly I had sought to borrow
From my cash surcease of sorrow
in the bosom of a whore -
With the loose and lusty lady
whom her patrons call Lenore -
In my heart forevermore.
Thus I sat heads up, unshaven,
with a player named 'The Raven.'
He existed for aggression,
treating poker like it's war;
With his beady gaze appraising,
he was raising, always raising
Any two! It was amazing,
such opponents I adore:
Wait for cards to loot the lagtard,
massive profits lie in store!
Soon that stack is his no more.
Then my hand Fortuna graces
with a pair of scarlet aces,
And I flat. The Raven raises.
I delay, my spirits soar.
Call. The flop comes single-suited,
and he shoves. It's undisputed:
He is begging to be looted,
he's a spewer to the core!
Now he has it, something tells me.
Intuition I ignore,
And I make the call once more.
"Bing blang blaow," the Raven uttered.
"What the bloody f*ck?" I sputtered,
And I numbly watched the table where
the Raven made his score
With a deuce and seven suited;
flopped the flush, and I was looted.
What a cooler!
Nerves uprooted, anger seeped through every pore.
Checked my roll,
which was constructed through the nanos' endless chore:
Eighty cents, and nothing more.
"Raven in the house!" he'd spoken and,
"This fifty is a token
Of my mammoth skill at poker.
You'd have spent it at the store
For your groceries, I'm guessing.
Well, too bad, is that distressing?
Soon I'll cash this verdant blessing;
ere I place it in my drawer,
I will rub it on my titties,
as I've done in days of yore.
Nothing else could please me more."
Such a rage his words did trigger,
and I shouted, "F*ggot n*gger!
Shut your hole, o fishy offal
that has drifted to the shore!
Retard donk, you smell like midden!
Hope your mom's with cancer ridden!
And the words that you have written
slight legitimacy bore;
You will promptly lose that fifty,
knowing naught of Sklansky's lore,
Lose that bill and many more."
But the Raven cawed his ditty,
"Docs on file and cash on titty!
I feel pity as I never have before:
Sing of your denied nutrition
and express your true contrition,
With an adequate submission,
I might possibly restore
Your pecuniary status.
Bring your sorrows to the fore,
Only that, and nothing more."
Lacking money, feeling hollowed,
my apology had followed, "Bing blang blaow"
from lips departing as a fetid poisoned spore,
"Of my cash I have no traces
for Lenore's diseased embraces,
Nor to stuff our pudgy faces
with the burgers we adore!
I am sorry for my language,
ship some back, sir, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
With my dollars he departed.
I stood up then, broken-hearted,
Threw my mouse and punched my laptop
and collapsed upon the floor,
And my eyes have all the seeming
of Phil Hellmuth's when he's steaming,
And my awful, tilted screaming
through my mouth will always pour;
And my roll from the vexation
that has pierced me to the core
Shall be lifted - nevermore.