The (Friggin') Raven 2024

Because the NY Yankees lost the World Series to the Dodgers (I'm a Mets fan!), I can now fully celebrate Halloween by sharing my version of a 19th Century scary "Poe" poem I mangled (...similarly to the way the Yankees mangled Game 5 of the World Series.)

AND....ONLY 146 days until Opening Day for Baseball!

In the meantime, Happy Halloween and shout-out to the LA Dodgers who beat the Yankees!

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As Today's reality scares the hell outta most "sane" people on the planet, we need some devilish deviations this Halloween; and what better way to

remain mischievous scamps at heart and appreciate (if not alter) 19th Century American literature centered on the macabre, mysterious, and melancholic (like Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven.)

Nearly two hundred years ago American poet Edgar Allan Poe was a badass (some would also assert batshit crazy too) who "bit the dust" in Baltimore.

...Be that is may, he was a rock star of Romanticism.

So, every year "on this very night" I pay tribute his "The Raven"; as I am reminded of the Poe-esque nightmare of painting our front door to stay in the Spirit of All Hallows' Eve.

HOWEVER, on that ill-fated night, a few sugar-jagged, spoiled brats dressed as Deadpool and Wonder Woman had other plans - which caused me to "lose it" for a brief period of time...after buying black & orange Benjamin Moore paint to decorate our "friggin door'' (upon which kids came a rap rap rapping.)

Woe be tide Guy Fawkes Night revelers here in London as this year I've got plenty of Johnstone's brand paint!

The (Friggin') Raven 2024

It best be not at midnight dearys, so you better ponder, and I’ll speak clearly,

When rap, rap, rapping on my newly painted door.

It’ll have been a long day, so I may be napping, and then of course, you’ll come a tapping.

As of squawking brats not gently rapping, rapping at my damn front door

"'Tis some costumed kid," I muttered, "now loudly tapping at my friggin’ door—

Not only this one, but several more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, undercover of bleak October weather;

And each separate crying member, squashing candy corn upon my floor.

I’ll curse their names here, 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,

“I shall give you no candy, if you don’t stop beating on my F'n door.”

Which had just been painted, with "Benjamin Moore"

Presently my ire grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

Trick or Treaters, truly, your forgiveness I implore;

The F'n fact is, I was napping, and not so gently you came a rapping,

Can’t you faintly come a rapping, like The Sugarhill Gang would, at my front door?

“Pardon sir, we have not heard you"—then I opened wide the door;

I’ll give you candy, but be forewarned!

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, scheming schemes, no mortal neighbour dared scheme before

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only six words that were spoken: Please stop rapping on my (F'n) door!

That’s all I want, and nothing more!

Back to the foyer I was turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, even louder than before!

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice”

Let me see, then, where my dog is, and then this mystery we’ll explore.

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery I’ll explore;

'Tis MORE kids and many more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In then stepped a stately Maven, who talked just like Zsa Zsa Gabor,

Then an obscene gesture made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;

Soon I realized dressed she, like “Snooky”, buxom bimbo from The Jersey Shore

She perched upon a bust of Pallas just across from my F'n door—

Perched, and sat, dressed like a whore.

All’s now quiet on our block, where ghouls & goblins dare not talk

While walking back home in the dark.

A group turned ‘round in the park…moving stealthily like a spooky mouse.

Laughing and giggling as they egged my neighbor’s house.

So say I, now feeling dandy, don’t forget the Halloween candy,

Lest you want egg splattered upon your front door.

Then you too will need, the paint of Benjamin Moore.

With matching colors...nothing more.

The End