"The Stench of the Blue Cheese"
(Parody of "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe)
Once upon a midnight cheesy, while I pondered, weak and queasy,
Over many a pungent and odorous snack of dubious lore—
While I nodded, nearly retching, suddenly there came a sketching,
As if someone was etching, etching on my stomach's core.
"'Tis some moldy cheese," I muttered, "etching on my stomach's core—
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember smelt worse than ever before.
From the scent it exuded, how it stunk, and how it brooded,
How it made me feel excluded, that foul cheese forevermore.
The fetid stench that lingered, leaving me longing for fresh air,
Causing my eyes to tear.
And the stench, never lifting, still is filling, still is drifting,
On the fetid air that's shifting, all around my humble abode;
And my soul, from that smell wafting, shall be lifted—nevermore!
Thus, I sat there, deep in thought, with my stomach all in knots,
As the cheese's pungent onslaught pierced my nostrils to the core.
While I tried to find solace in my cup of tea with jasmine,
There came a scent most unkind, like an unwelcome dinosaur.
"A relic from the ancient past," I mumbled, "from an age of yore—
This I can't endure."
And the stench, never lifting, still is filling, still is drifting,
On the fetid air that's shifting, all around my humble abode;
And my soul, from that smell wafting, shall be lifted—nevermore!
Startled by the putrid fume, I fled into my living room,
Seeking refuge from the doom that cheese had brought upon my door.
But even there, its vile essence seeped through every nook and crevice,
Tainting my once peaceful presence, leaving me feeling abhorred.
"No escape," I whimpered, "from this rotten, malodorous horde—
This I can't afford."
And the stench, never lifting, still is filling, still is drifting,
On the fetid air that's shifting, all around my humble abode;
And my soul, from that smell wafting, shall be lifted—nevermore!
In my desperation, I searched for a form of liberation,
From this olfactory damation that had plagued me to the core.
I tried air fresheners and incense, candles and even peppermints,
But the cheese's smell was relentless, clinging to me evermore.
"No relief," I bem*, "from this unappetizing galore—
It's here forevermore."
And the stench, never lifting, still is filling, still is drifting,
On the fetid air that's shifting, all around my humble abode;
And my soul, from that smell wafting, shall be lifted—nevermore!
As the days turned into nights, I resigned to my nose's plights,
Accepting the putrid sights and smells that haunted me before.
No longer did I dream of freshness, for the cheese had brought its essence,
And I, trapped in its quintessence, surrendered to my rotten lore.
"Embrace the stench," I whispered, "and forevermore endure—
Forever and evermore."
And the stench, never lifting, still is filling, still is drifting,
On the fetid air that's shifting, all around my humble abode;
And my soul, from that