From Hell's Heart I Stab at Thee, for Hate's Sake I Spit My Last Dodgeball at Thee
How the balls whip about me! Were I a volleyball I'd hurl no more myself upon such a miserable gym class, it tubular-necked jocks and their bullet heads hurling their vengeance upon the meek -- how our poor hearts throb, our poor brains beat too much. And ye with your vile throws have ventilated it such; blown ere between these ears and bloodied my nose on the basketball court floors as lava from vesuvius.
Out now with it! The last ball is upon me, and stand I alone against Bobby Schumacher with abs aplenty. In ev'ry fight hurl the survivors the last and bitterest blow, before the eyes of the bleacher'd masses yearning for a caught ball to send them free, an outrage among the mortal thrower and his weaken'd arm before he alone must sit down against the maelstrom. About, about! Come down all of ye, for into the open maw I prepare to to hurleth my spiteful sphere, baptis'd in mine own blood!
Forehead to forehead I meet thee, Bobby Schumacher. But let me have one more good round look aloft here at my period three Gym Class; there's time for that. Aye, not changed a wink since I first saw it, took a softball pitch to mine crotch as the s'mester began. Now, to you, Schumacher. I grin at thee, thou grinning jock! Oh oh!
I turn my body from the sun! Towards thee I roll, thou owning but unconquering foo! To the last I grapple with thee! From Hell's heart I stab at thee! For hate's sake I hurl my last dodgeball at thee! Aaiieeeghhh!!
[The thunderous thump of a dodgeball pounding against clattering wooden bleachers echoes through the gymnasium.]
Know ye, now, Schumacher? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of volleyballs conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish bench? Dammit.
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