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**Vincent Lane** · **10-13-2014, 02:06 PM**

For fuck's sakes, man, are we really doing this? Alright, hold on....

((Loverboy grabs the copy of Leaves of Grass he uses to impress bookish girls and turns to page 284, clearing his throat and reading in a powerful baritone.))

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

((Loverboy sets the book down.))

Well dude, it looks like it's in there to me. If you knew what the fuck you were talking about you'd know the guy re-edited and re-published the book tons of times over 40 years until his death. Then again, if you knew your head from your ass you'd stop talking out of your crack.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Mastermind, you fucking pussy
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