Ode to the Lost Golem

[Occhidiangela]

Per Blizzard's M rating, the game, and thus its poetry, is aimed at Mature (17 & older) audiences. Parents are reminded to screen Diablo poetry to determine its suitability, particularly if they choose to allow their under 17-year-old children access to such tripe.

Yeah, on further review, this one is a bit coarse.

~~ El Diablazeta ~~ *

(Loosely translated from the original Khandarin dialect, although I will confess that this durned red jewel in my head makes it tough to recall verses verbatim*)


A clever rapscallion, young Wirt,
He's ambitious, resourceful, alert.
He has dreams of great riches,
Of wearing silk one-legged britches,
But he still wipes his nose on his shirt.

When Pepin first came to Tristram
He was in a wee bit of a jam,
Seems the folks who owned farms
Were all up in arms,
Since they'd caught him molesting a lamb

In the Tavern dear Gillian works
Which allows her the following perks
She gets free food and drink
A daily bath in the sink
And advances from both gents and jerks

Sir Gorash "did" Snow Witch Swoboda,
Got his jollies, but gave her no "O" (Duh!)
So with great savoir faire,
She stood on a chair,
And pissed in his whiskey and soda!

Sensanombre, at Ogden's a-drinking,
Thought he saw Gillian's eye at him winking,
He reached under her skirt,
Then pulled back, his hand hurt!
'Twas her Sparkling Chastity Belt twinkling!

A hot-blooded rogue named Occhee,
Told Grizwold, "For ten gold, you get mee.
To do zee French way,
Merely double zee pay,
But today doggie style is for free!"

There was an old sorcerer, Il Bruto,
Whose mind was obsessed by his root-o
He said, "I'm tired of my hand
On the Rod of Onan --
I'll bet rogering Laz is a hoot, though!"

Diablo sat moping in Hell,
With nothing to do but to dwell,
On his red family jewel
And his useless old tool-
That even Black Jade's tongue can't swell!
(So now ya know why he makes that motion . . .)

The Butcher, as a boredom reliever,
Played mubbledy peg with his cleaver.
But his lack of dexterity,
Caused a wound whose severity,
Means his "Fresh Meat" is no beaver cleaver.

King Leoric, that boney old Tyrant
Is anorexic and nasty, but I rant.
'Spit', his pet Lava Maw,
When he lifts his back paw,
Thinks Leoric's a royal good hydrant!

Sweet Adria, Dame of arcane arts,
Sells you potions and magical parts
But her Magic Elixers,
Cold brews and hot mixtures,
Still won't cure Farnum's case of the farts

When Blood Lust and Red Vex were succubi,
They'd seduce you and tease you and *&^% you (sigh),
But now they're both Mistresses,
Of Blood Stars and Whips 'n spurs,
They'll just tie you and beat you- with luck "you'll die!"

Old Farnham drinks whiskey all day
(Shakes down Wirt to get money to pay)
When the boy has no dough
To level four he must go
Selling the Snotspill the sign again -- Hey!


The rest doesn't scan too well in English. =P


*=With apologies, to the folks at Blizzard who wrote the original poetry in the manual, for any errors I have made in recalling the words, phrasing, and/or meter.

Occhidiangela, Rogue with a Pure Heart, but perhaps a dirty mind ;^)