Poo Lit Surprise
“I experienced A LOT of them… from both sides!”
- For Uncyclopedia's Poo Lit Surprise writing competition, see Uncyclopedia:Poo Lit Surprise
Poo Lit Surprise is a narrative poem by the American writer and poet Edgar Allan Poe. It is considered one of the seminal literary masterpieces of the 19th century, and is often quoted by Ivy League scholars, accomplished philosophers, and alienated high school kids who think that mindlessly regurgitating other people's words will somehow add hope to their bleak, miserable, existance.
The First Draft
The first incarnation of Poo Lit Surprise was titled The Raven and was published on January 29, 1845. The poem begins with the protagonist sitting alone in a room, lamenting the death of his wife, Lenore. His indescribable anguish is further inflamed by a talking bird with a rather limited vocabulary.
The poem was poorly received by the Literary community, and was met with much disapproval from many of Poe's colleagues:
“George Bush doesn't care about... Why the hell would I have anything to say about The Raven? Try quoting Oscar Wilde, Moron! He was actually around back then!”
“..Kayne sent you? ...Raven? ... Oh, you mean the first draft of Poo Lit Surprise! Boooooooring! 18 stanzas? Who could sit through all that?! I just got the Cole's Notes summary. ”
Back To The Drawing (Writing) Board
Following such harsh criticism, Poe decided to rework his poem in order to make it more accessible to mainstream audiances. The revised draft trimmed the poem down to 8 stanzas. The first four stanzas are identical to The Raven, yet the last four present a clever plot twist, as the protagonist's anguish over the loss of Lenore is eclipsed by the more immediate anguish caused by the flaming bag of shit someone has left on his front porch.
The new poem was retitled to Poo Lit Surprise, and was published on October 6, 1847. The poem was lauded by the scholars of the day, and became an instant masterpiece. Poe's idea of replacing the bird with a flaming bag of shit earned him the status of Poet Lauriate, and has influenced the literary world to this very day, when pieces of shit are published on a dialy basis.
The Completed Masterpiece
- Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
- Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
- As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
- "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
- Only this, and nothing more."
- Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
- And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
- Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
- From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
- Nameless here for evermore.
- And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
- 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 chamber door -
- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
- This it is, and nothing more,"
- Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
- "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
- But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
- And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
- That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
- Could it be my lost Lenore?
- Suddenly I ceased my yearning, for before me was a burning
- Paper bag which some foul demon placed upon the wooden floor.
- On the porch I stood proclaiming: "Demons who have have left this flaming
- Package which illuminates the night upon my chamber door;
- Who are you that placed this flaming bag upon my chamber door?!
- Show yourselves, forevermore!"
- How distinctly I remember stomping out the flaming ember
- On that dark night in December, stomping at the wooden floor.
- For within the flaming parcel was a putrid, stinking morsel
- Of some demon's excrements now flaming at my chamber door.
- Smearing on my feet and on the ground beneath my chamber door.
- This I saw, and nothing more.
- "Be that flame our sign of parting, flaming bag!" I shrieked upstarting -
- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
- Leave no brown smear as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
- Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit my porch forevermore!
- Take thy flame from out my heart, and take thy stench from off my floor!
- Though shalt leave forevermore!"
- But the package, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
- On the charcoaled floorboards of the porch, before my chamber door;
- And the stench is left unbroken, speaks words which are best not spoken
- Leaves behind a vicious token, smeared across the blackened floor.
- And my soul from out that stain that lies upon the charcoal floor
- Shall be lifted - nevermore!
References In Modern Media
The website uncyclopedia, considered to be the fountainhead of modern literary talent, awards its best writers with an award titled The Poo Lit Surprise, in commemoration of Poe's poem, which stands as a pinnacle for aspiring writers to this day.