EPTHis Broodling Romance
Trained to stand at attention in organized lines,
Torn by glave wurms, by zerglings, by hydralisk spines,
Plagued by loathsome defilers when things went amiss,
Saved by medics' restorative, sloppy-sweet kiss.
So much death! Whether led by a noob in campaign
Or neglected by oov or Berserker,
He had shuddered as buddies were cloven in twain
Friends no more, only snacks for a lurker.
Each engagement was slaughter, at best a retreat,
And he heard, whether crippled and fed through a tube,
Or by dropship withdrawn, or on blood-crusted feet:
"Kekeke, I am Kor, kekeke, you are noob!"
Leaders cared not a whit if he lived or he died -
They'd just macro some more. His importance denied,
He had hijacked a dropship to flee far away
With his squad and his favorite medic one day.
They had feared a decree from the dread UED
That would pay for their heads. In their panic,
They had woven a path through galactic debris
To a planet most hot and volcanic.
Disembarking on Char, they had wandered aside
(Else his fellow marines would for blowjobs implore).
Here their romance would blossom, he'd make her his bride,
Safe from Zerg, far away from the mocking of Kor.
But not all would be well in their blissful embrace.
Blood was pouring all over her beauteous face,
Half her torso exploded, and in her demise,
Two insatiable broodlings sprang out of her thighs.
He looked upward and noticed the queen, high aloft,
Full of rage and of bloodthirsty malice.
Stim wouldn't work, and his rifle went flaccid and soft
Like a geezer bereft of Cialis.
He was covered by buddies, the broodlings were slain.
He was weeping; no prospect of love lay in store.
In the meantime, the queen fled to higher terrain
As it hissed, "Kekeke, you are noob, I am Kor!"
