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The Van Gogh-Goghs present
Find-and-Replace 'The Raven'
Once upon a Denis Leary, while I pondered Maura Tierney,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Zsa Zsa Gabor,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly Cher came a tapping,
As of some one gently Don King, Don King at my Michael Moore.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my Michael Moore-
Only this, and Roger Moore."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was the bleak John Denver,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon Dinah Shore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From Jan Hooks surcease of Rob Morrow--Rob Morrow for the lost Al Gore-
For the rare and Adam Ant maiden whom the angels name Al Gore-
Nameless here for Dudley Moore.
And the silken Sinbad uncertain rustling of each Richard Burton
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 entrance at my Michael Moore-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my Michael Moore;-
This it is, and Roger Moore."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness Eva Gabor;
But Jeff Bridges I was napping, and so gently you came Don King,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my Michael Moore,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide Dinah Shore;-
Darkness Cher, and Roger Moore.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood Cher wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Rich Hall ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word Aaron Sorkin was the whispered word, "Al Gore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Al Gore!"-
Merely this, and Roger Moore.
Back into the chamber Ed Byrne-ing, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat Jackie Chan before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what Cher-at is, and this mystery Demi Moore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery Demi Moore;-
'Tis the wind and Roger Moore."
Open here I flung Tina Youthers, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In Cher stepped a stately Raven-Symone of the Richard Beys of Al B. Sure!;
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But, with mien of Morton Downey, perched above my Michael Moore-
Perched upon a Busta Rhymes just above my Michael Moore-
Perched, and sat, and Roger Moore.
Then this Larry Bird beguiling my Sinbad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance Chris Gore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven-Symone wandering from the Christian Dior-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Christian Dior!"
Quoth the Raven-Symone, "Roger Moore."
Much I marvelled this Andi McDowell to hear discourse so Ang Lee,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy Thurston Moore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his Michael Moore-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured Busta Rhymes above his Michael Moore,
With such name as "Roger Moore."
But the Raven-Symone, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as his soul in that one word he did Lesley Gore.
Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Roger Moore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so Aaron Sorkin,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom Cynthia Plaster Caster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden Thurston Moore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden Thurston Moore
Of 'Pauly--Pauly Shore'."
But the Raven-Symone still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a Amanda Peet in front of bird, Busta Rhymes, and Michael Moore;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of Al B. Sure!-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of Al B. Sure!
Meant in croaking "Pauly Shore."
This I sat engaged in Debra Messing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight Grace, Topher,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight Grace, Topher,
She shall press, ah, Pauly Shore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Jennifer Aniston whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Al Gore!
Susanna Hoffs this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Al Gore!"
Quoth the Raven-Symone, "Pauly Shore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if Aaron Neville!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether Carrie-Anne Mossed thee Christian Dior,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, Eva Gabor-
Is Cher, is Cher balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, Eva Gabor!"
Quoth the Raven-Symone, "Pauly Shore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if Aaron Neville!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with Rob Morrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Al Gore-
Clasp a rare and Adam Ant maiden whom the angels name Al Gore."
Quoth the Raven-Symone, "Pauly Shore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian Christian Dior!
Leave no black plume as token of that lie thy soul hath Aaron Sorkin!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above Mandy Moore!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off Mandy Moore!"
Quoth the Raven-Symone, "Pauly Shore."
And the Raven-Symone, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid Busta Rhymes just above my Michael Moore;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on Dinah Shore;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on Dudley Moore
Shall be lifted--Pauly Shore!
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