>>169585839While I was rushing downward to the batters cage,
Before mine eyes did one present himself,
Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.
When I beheld him in the forest vast,
"Have pity on me," unto him I cried,
"Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real bear!"
He answered me: "Not bear; bear once I was,
And both my parents were of stitchers,
And storytellers by trade both of them.
'Whinney' was I born, though it was late,
And lived at the Hundred Acre Wood under the good Christopher Robins,
During the time of false and lying friends.
A batter was I, and I hit that just
Pitch of Robins, which came forth from Christopher,
After that Eeyore the depressed was owned.
But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?
Why play'th thou not the Brothers Mario,
Which is the source and cause of every joy?"
"Now, art thou that Whinney the Pooh and that fountain
Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?"
I made response to him with bashful forehead.
"O, of the other batters honour and light,
Avail me the long study and great love
That have impelled me to explore thy strategy!
Thou art my master, and my author thou,
Thou art alone the one from whom I took
The beautiful style that has done honour to me.
Behold the bullshit AI, for which I have turned back;
Do thou protect me from them, famous Sage,
For they doth make my anus and buttcheeks tremble."