“YOLO,” said Millennials, and “yeet,” the Zoomers cried

“Rizzler gyatt fanum tax,” the Alphas then replied

And lo, there came a shaking as an ebon spire rose

Upon it writ the tongues of men, their generations’ prose

And from the sky a thund’rous voice called out unto the stone,

As golden letters glowed upon its surface, newly shown:

“RIZZLER GYATT FANUM TAX, SIGMA OHIO SKIBIDI”

And all beheld the words embossed theron in great timidity

With shaking and with wavering voice, the grim refrain began

As all the generations sang the verse at its command

Their weeping and their running sores did nothing to delay

The chanting of that fevered song as night succumbed to day

But rose that morn a blighted sun whose light scoured like a flood

The sky was rent asunder and the rivers turned to blood

Their flesh peeled off in sickly strips, their bones were rendered bare

And still they chanted ever on, the words they uttered there

Until bone and flesh and earth and death were all forgotten things

And still unbidden, undesired, the blackened spire sings

Around it wind the whispers of the souls in its captivity:

“rizzler gyatt fanum tax… sigma ohio skibidi”.

  • abc [he/him, comrade/them]@hexbear.netEnglish
    1·
    1 year ago

    I met a Sigma from an antique land,

    Who said—“a based and gronkless bowl of stone

    Skibs in the backrooms. . . . Near it, right on brand,

    Half sunk, a shattered rizzler lies, whose frown,

    And creaséd drip, and cringe of cold command,

    Tell that its streamer well those fashions read

    Which yet survive, tagged on these sussy things,

    The gyatt that mogged them, and the chat that fled;

    And on the pedestal, these words appear:

    ‘My name is Ozyfanumtax, Chad of Chads;

    Look on my Ws, ye Redpilled, and despair!’

    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

    Of that colossal Kek, bitchless and bare

    Ohio’s level lands edge far away.”