Edgar Allen Poe is rolling in his grave

Once upon a midnight dreary
while I smoked the chronic bleary
and did another line of coke from off my parquet floor
whilst I grooved to Jay-Z rapping, suddenly there came a tapping, a tapping at my bedroom door.
Tis some Greek bilionaire, I muttered, tapping at my bedroom door
only this and nothing more.

Tho I really don't remember, it could have been around December
when Stavros went to get more drugs and head out to the liquor store
"Hurry up" is what I thought, while I wiped away some snot
I wanted to see what he had brought, brought me from the liquor store
"It better not be the cheap stuff," is what I swore.
"or else he'll go back for some more."

But suddenly I was uncertain
that it was Stavros behind the curtain
maybe it was the papparazzi like so many times before
yanking on some slutty clothes, I primped and preened and prepared to pose
and my vagina to expose
for the photographers whom I do adore
presently my buzz grew stronger, I couldn't wait a moment longer
and here I opened wide the door
darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering
long I stood there wondering, fearing
was I just too high from all the crack that I had smoked galore?
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token
and the only words there spoken were the whispered words, "you whore!"
The hissing, electrical whisper, "whore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my bedroom turning
I grabbed the joint that I'd left burning
but soon again I heard the murmering, somewhat louder than before.
Surely this must be the paps, out to get unflattering snaps, of my loose vagina flaps
that the tabloids love to call for
or else just the wind and nothing more
this I was what I had to explore.

Toking once more, I flung the shutter
and with many a luminous flutter
emerged the glowing, stately goddess of my television's yore
she did not smile, or beam, or chat
and in person didn't look so fat
but glared and sat, she just sat, sat beside my bedroom door
This woman whom the world doth adore
glared and sat and nothing more.




Then this goddess did beguiling
turn my poufy pout to smiling
by the grave and stern decorum of the disapproving frown she wore.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and suddenly I felt like peeing
'cause this like, celestial being was sitting by my bedroom door.
"Oprah, what could it be that brings you to my chamber door?"
Quoth the Oprah, "Quit being a whore!"

Startled by the words she'd spoken
I grabbed my pipe and started tokin
Wishing Oprah would go away, she was being like, a total bore.
Still she sat amid my clutter, nothing further did she utter
till I heard her start to mutter, "Heed my advice, do not ignore. The way you act, I do deplore. All I want to do is roar,
Quit being such a drugged out whore!"

There I sat engaged in smoking
the yummy weed, my lungs were choking
and I thought she must be joking
about my being thought a whore
Said I, "What can you be thinking? Surely you must be the one drinking
everyone loves me for my singing, no one thinks that I'm a whore!"
And I rubbed more Valtrex on my sore.

And then it seemed the air grew denser,
Oprah's eyes did flash with angry censure
and she grabbed my little, tiny bong and smashed it on the hardwood floor.
"Foul wench," she cried, "I do decree
to the girls at my Leadership Academy
you will end up with the HIV
if you snort up coke from off the floor!
No one should be famous for being a whore!
Clean up your behaviour I do implore!"


Soon her words were realling smarting,
"You're bumming me out," I shrieked, upstarting.
"Go away, go peddle The Secret, to the soccer moms you blather for.
I wish that you had never spoken, and had left my bong unbroken
now how am I going to be smokin the weed that Stavros went to score?
Oprah, I can't take it anymore, you get your fatass out this door!"
Quoth the Oprah, "Nevermore."

And the Oprah, never flitting, still is sitting,
still is sitiing,
by the shards of broken bong that lie beside my bedroom door.
And I wonder, was I dreaming?
My reputation did she try redeeming?
Maybe that's why she is now screaming,
while Stavros fucks me on the floor.
Stop doing coke and billionaires? Nevermore!