
Originally Posted by
VeritasUnae
To B, or not to B--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous mechas
Or to take arms against a sea of Stelens
And by opposing, failing. To fail, to die--
No end--and by a fail, we mean we end
His moustache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh to hair is. 'Tis a consummation
devoured at a whim. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the Derse,
For in that sleep of Derse what horror comes
When we have shuffled off this beta-self,
Must give rebirth. There's the ascent
That makes calamity an elong. life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's stabs, the Prospitan's crown'd glow
The pangs of caliginous love, kis-missed,
The insolence of agents, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' low pawn takes,
When she herself might her end zone meet
With a regisword? Who would vagrants bear,
To blink and sweat under an endless sun,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered bubbles, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles that kill,
And makes us rather bear sudoku cubes
Than fly to those doors that we know not of?
Thus par'dox does make exiles of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the low caste distraught,
And enterprise of great pitch and oil slick
With this regard air currents turn awry
And lose the name of den'zen. -- Soft you now,
The fair miss Cyanide! -- Nymph, in thy dress
Be all my scars dismembered.