Hark, my fellows, listen close,
To what your Lords hath wrought.
Perhaps a warning e'er we begin,
Joyful this tale is not.
Thus starts the saga of Yellow Jacket,
Read out loud! (to feel immersion)
For this is the legend of a legend so great,
T'must be told in the third person.
Respected oft-times for his game,
But more feared for his word.
For wielded he, tongue razor-keen,
As a knight doth wield his sword.
He'd pit this wit against all foes,
Who dared logic disdain.
And should their speech much reason lack,
That tongue would lash them pain.
Against the vile right-winger,
Would our hero mock and jape.
And against the vapid fundie,
Did he rail and did he ape.
To match our hero's gift of gab,
Too many had aspired.
And yet as all good things must go,
So this thing too, expired.
You see, came he, upon a foil,
Some Lord of Webdip Land.
Tiresome, dim! Yet grasping him,
A checkered bann'r in hand.
Hither and yon the petty lord strode,
Enforcing and mandating.
T'was whispered, "With banhammer so large -
Perhaps he's compensating?"
Now against our hero's levity,
This lord was wont to bray:
"Am I not master of this land?
I say what you may say!"
And Yellow Jacket did respond,
With customary grace:
Took rod in hand, and with it, slapped,
That lord across the face.
Snick Snack! Snick Snack! So truly struck,
The small lord's paltry hide.
Imposs'ble to forgive, he found,
This damage to his pride.
Retribution? Swift! Indeed it was,
As many did forsee.
But much to the surprise of all,
Banhammer'd t'was not to be!
More cruel, the Lords of Webdip land,
(How the wicked ones did rejoice!)
Through magicks vile did they defile
Our hero's very voice.
Didst thou know? 'Tis true! Full on a year,
Did our champ'yon agonize.
They bade him read, most insipid of things,
But ne'er he could crack wise.
Too brutal was this punishment!
The Lords fin'ly had recognition.
Our hero's tongue would be returned,
IF... His tone he'd recondition.
"Can it be so?" You may well ask.
"Shall our pal truly be free?"
Alas, alack, it shan't be thus.
I'll explain so you can see.
What purpose the archer, without her bow?
Or the bird who can't take wing?
And what good is a wit, having blunted its edge?
Or this wasp, without his sting?
Of what use is Webdip land to him,
If the inane flows unabated?
And what at all use is he to you?
With his retorts thus 'moderated?'
Unrepentant, instead, he'll wish to all,
His dearest friends, "Goodbye!"
For rather than live as less than himself,
The legend would rather die.
Upon this grave, let tyrant Lords
Bear witness to their sin,
As they scrawl, "We killed the Yellow Jacket."
And sign: "-Webdip Admin."
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