Dear Chris Pirillo's Chair - Page 3

Once upon a Saturday night dreary, while I pondered balance and theory,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my stream door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my stream door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the Pro KOTH,
And each separate dying player wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the battle; - vainly I had sought to prattle
From my streams surcease of chattle - chattle of the lost swarm -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named the Chair whore.
Nameless and here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple creeplord
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"Tis some visitor entreating the chat at my stream's door -
Some late visitor entreating the chat at my stream's door; -
This it is, and nothing more,"

Presently my sould grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the said fact is I was observing, and so gently you came unnerving,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping, at my stream's door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
Chair there, and nothing more.

Deep into that Chair peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence wasunbroken, and the chair gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Chair!"
This I whispered, an echo murmured back the word, "Chair!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the stream turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my stream 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 stream, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the chat, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately chair, of the saintly streams of youre.
Not the least obeisance made it, not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my stream door.
Perched upon a possibly a floor of wood, just above my stream door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony chair beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the desk it wore,
"Though thy desk be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no bear,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient chair, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the chair, "Chris Pirillo's Chair."

Much I marvelled this ungainly ass support device to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing chair above his stream door,
Stool or bench upon the video above his stream door,
With such a name as "Chris Pirillo's Chair."

But the chair, sitting lonely at that placid desk, spoke only
That one phrase, as if its soul in that one phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then it uttered; not a stitch then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have sat before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have sat before."
Then the chair said, "Chris Pirillo's Chair."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"!911," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some afk master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his asscushion on burden bore, -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Chris Pirillo's - Chris Pirillo's Chair."

But the chair still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a chat pause in from of the chair, and desk, and screensaver;
Then, upon the leather sinking, I betook myself into linking
Troll unto troll, thinking what this ominous chair of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous chair of yore
Meant in croaking "Chris Pirillo's Chair."

Thou I sat engaged in trolling, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my banhammer's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the stream's paused chat lining that the monitor light gloated o'er,
But whose stream's paused chat lining with the monitor light gloating o'er
It shall press, ah, Chris Pirillo's Chair!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen ustream admin
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the stream's chat.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath
Sent thee chair - chair and nepenth from thy memorys of ICCup TV Pro KOTH!
Quaff, o quaff this kind of nepenth, and forget this ICCup TV Pro KOTH!"
Quoth the chair, "Chris Pirillo's chair!"

"Admin!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, is glitch or devil!
Whether hacker sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this stream land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore:
Is there - is there a cure to chair? - tell me - tell me I implore!"
Quoth the chair, "Chris Pirillo's chair!"

"Admin!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, is glitch or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us - by that Admin we both adore -
Tell this chair with sorrow laden, if, within the distant future
It shall clasp a sainted stream, whom the angels name ICCup TV Pro KOTH -
Clasp a rare and radiant stream, whom the angels name ICCup TV Pro KOTH?"
Quoth the chair, "Chris Pirillo's chair!"

"Be that chair our sign of parting, chair or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into your own stream and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no hint as a token of that lie thy chair hath spoken!
Leave my stream unbroken! - quit the stream above my stream!
Take thy stitching from out my heart, and take they form from off my stream!"
Quoth the chair, "Chris Pirillo's chair!"

And the chair, never faltering, still is stitting, still is sitting
On the pallid window of SC2 just above my stream's door;
And his screensavers have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the monitor lamplight o'er him streaming throws its shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be screwed - Chris Pirillo's chair!




Fuck you chair.