GHOST: But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;posted by Mr. Bad Example at 9:58 AM on July 25, 2012 [6 favorites]
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leperous distilment; my mom got scared
And said, “You’re movin’ with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air.”
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posted by anewnadir at 10:23 PM on July 24, 2012 [1 favorite]