"Story, Robbie, tell me a story! *LOL*"       "This is all God's fault (Jenny for those who don't know her alias) so you guys can take it up with her if you don't appreciate this."

A tale of strange things I will tell you,
some of the same I can sell you.
Of purple trees and glowing orbs,
radiating lights and ludicrous b###s.
F#@* !!($)%?*, #$@^%*<|)*%$#g.
Of blurbs and bleeps, trolls and creeps.
Of #See/Hear/Speak no evil#'s.
That's what gamers are made of.

We have no cash no place to crash,
but Chris will sell you any card that exists.
Our meals consist, and we subsist,
on pizza, oreos, and Dew.
We roll the dice and swear once or twice,
as our characters kiss the bullet or the dirt.
F#@* !!($)%?*, #$@^%*<|)*%$#g.
Around the corner dodge and duck,
there's a hooker who wants to #talk#?
A beholder descends- draw back with bow
arrow let loose- a miss! oh nooo!

This is the chant of a gamer true,
one who has little else to do.
At three in the morn when nothing's on,
and father's upstairs getting gone.
And so my tale comes to close,
maybe this time I'll shut the door and it'll miss my nose...
F#@* !!($)%?*, #$@^%*<|)*%$#g!!!!!!!