Here Are My 35 Favorite Silly Comics With Random Twists I Drew In The Year 2022

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,/ In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;/ Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;/ But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—/ Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—/ Perched, and sat, and nothing more.// Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,/ By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,/ “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,/ Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—/ Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”/ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”//

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,/ Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;/ For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being/ Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—/ Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,/ With such name as “Nevermore.”// But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only/ That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour./ Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—/ Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—/ On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”/ Then the bird said “Nevermore.”//

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,/ “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store/ Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster/ Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—/ Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore/ Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”// But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,/ Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;/ Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking/ Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—/ What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore/ Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”//

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing/ To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;/ This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining/ On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,/ But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,/ She shall press, ah, nevermore!// Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer/ Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor./ “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee/ Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;/ Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”/ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”//

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—/ Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,/ Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—/ On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—/ Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”/ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”// “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!/ By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—/ Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,/ It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—/ Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”/ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”//

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—/ “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!/ Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!/ Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!/ Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”/ Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”// And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting/ On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;/ And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,/ And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;/ And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor/ Shall be lifted—nevermore!///

*deep inhale* THERE. ALL 18 VERSES. You’re welcome.

You know we can just look up it on Google if we want to, right? But thanks anyway?

Thanks!

Im soz, I didn’t read any of them except the first…. 🫣