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Story Notes:
I haven't posted anything here in ages, so I hope you all enjoy!
Author's Chapter Notes:
I don't own anything. :P

Once upon a midnight happy, while I yodeled quick and snappy,

Over many a tune and score from the preppy Cornell days of yore,

While I whistled, fingers tapping, suddenly there was a clapping,

Just in time to my quick tapping, clapping near my ‘partment door.

“It’s just some hobo,” I muttered, “clapping near my ‘partment door.

Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, surely I can say, it was near my wedding day,

And save-the-dates were scattered freely across the floor.

Desperately I wished for quiet, for that thing to stop its riot,

So I could finish harmonizing to my favorite score,

The beautiful and lovely music that was my favorite score

That will last for evermore.

And the clapping on the beat, turned to snapping neat,

Chilled me- filled me with melodic rhythms never felt before;

So that now, to stop the tapping of my foot, I said, repeating,

“It’s just some hobo clapping near my ‘partment door,

Some hobo snapping tunes near my ‘partment door,

This it is, and nothing more.”

Suddenly my urge grew bigger, declaring then with pent up vigor,

“Sir,” I said, “or lady, please excuse me, I implore,

But in reality, I was singing, when so loudly you came bringing

Your snapping and your clapping, clapping to my ‘partment door,

so I couldn’t hear my song”- here I pushed open my door-

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Down the hallway I stood staring, I did wait there leering, glaring,

Thinking tortuous thoughts no tenor ever thought before.

But the clapper was not clapping, and the snapper was not snapping,

And the only sound that sounded was the shutting of my door,

And then the tricky surprise opening of my ‘partment door,

Only this and nothing more.

Back in to my ‘partment going, the anger in my stomach growing,

Soon again I heard a snapping much, much louder than before.

“Surely,” I said, “surely there is someone at my ‘partment door;

Let me see who, who is there, and kick them to the floor,

Let my manly muscled legs kick him to the floor,

That is it and nothing more!”

Then my door I banged open, probably scaring my neighbor Copen,

In there stepped a tenor from my Cornell days of yore,

In his plaid and blue striped sweater and belted khaki pants

And a button he surely found at some random store,

Bearing the name “Here Comes Treble’ scrawled across the fore,

Stepped right in and said no more.

Then this preppy dressed up lad made me feel so foul and mad

By the stupid grin and ironed pants and stolen pin he wore.

“Though your shoes are buffed and waxed, you have no right to be relaxed

Standing with your stupid pin at my ‘partment door,

So tell me why in Cornell’s founder’s name you are at my ‘partment door.”

Quoth the tenor, “Nevermore.”

“Cheater!” I said, “Thing of shame! Loser still, if cool or lame!

Why are you standing at my ‘partment door,

Dressed as if you owned the world, your golden locks as if they’re curled,

When years ago you stamped my heart out on the floor

When you stole my spot as Voice Part Four?”

Quoth the tenor, “Nevermore.”

“Cheater!” I said, “Thing of shame! Loser still, if cool or lame!

What in the name of Kermit the Frog do you mean by nevermore?

That the a cappella gods have righted wrongs, and forbidden you from singing songs?

Have they made your throat eternally sore?

And now you’re standing at my ‘partment door?”

Quoth the tenor, “Nevermore.”

The sweater-clad man bent down slowly, as if somewhat feeling lowly,

And picked a save-a-date up off the floor,

With ‘D-money’ printed ‘cross the top, bought at the nearest wedding shop,

From the pile of my wedding things galore,

And I was struck to my core.

Quoth the tenor, “Nevermore.”

“Are you an a cappella spirit? It it’s so, I will not fear it,

But I will believe that you’re warning me before

I marry that blonde Christian lady, who’s always seeming somewhat shady,

And telling me to stop singing my songs of lore.

I cannot put up with her unappreciative attitude anymore!”

Quoth the tenor, “Nevermore.”

“Clever,” I said, “spirit of song! I should not stoop to play along

With someone who hates her rock hardcode.

Your nevermore was meant to warn, telling me I’ll be reborn

-Strike the harp and play the horn!-

If I rid myself of her who wants me to sing nevermore!”

“I’ll rid myself of her who wants me to sing nevermore!”

Chapter End Notes:

I hope you enjoyed! If you did, I posted a similar piece last Halloween; it's also a parody of "The Raven" where Angela is visited by poor Sprinkles. I'd encourage you to check it out. :) And as always, please review!



Big Tuna is the author of 19 other stories.
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