In the land of /x/, once upon a time
The citizens lived peacefully, free of crime,
But all of tat dropped on a dime
When hatred split up the /x/philes.
They once were a people who craved the creepy and weird
And scoffed at the things that others feared
Sick, twisted stories were highly endeared,
To those creeps, the /x/philes.
But, among them, an ember grew hot,
As the anons and tripfags, over summer, constantly fought
over who was right and who was not
An ember of hatred among the /x/philes.
On a dark night in '10, on the sixth of September,
(A night every lurker will surely remember)
A fire was sparked from that loathsome ember
And wrought doom upon the /x/philes.
Usually, /x/, like other boards, could withstand
The faggots born of Summerland,
But this year, tensions grew out of hand,
That summer, amongst the /x/philes.
By summer's end, they were on the edge;
They needed only a raid to jump over the ledge,
They quickly forgot their paranormal pledge
As /b/ came after the /x/philes.
As civil war loomed, and defenses were down,
The /b/rethren, the meanest lot around,
Invaded /x/, and soon found,
That, that night, they could end the /x/philes.
They attacked with sheer force, relentlessly strong,
With bombs of trollface and yourdoingitwrong,
Yet, through the battle, all the night long,
No fight was put up from the /x/philes.
They were too busy with their won civil war,
Too consumed with claims of "attention whore,"
Apparently, that meant more to them than their board,
Oh, what had become of the /x/philes?
Medical personnel was running low,
Casualties were high as /x/ succumbed to the foe,
And their only (!)Doctor didn't show,
Yes, things looked dark for the /x/philes.
One by one, the tripfags started to fall,
Burned alive by the /b/rethren, trips stolen and all,
The anons heard the shrieks of pain, and turned in shame from the brawl,
Isn't this what you wanted, Anon /x/philes?
And, soon, the few anons left fell,
Beaten in that blazing battlefield board gone to Hell,
The very board in which they used to tell
Creepy stories with the tripfagging /x/philes.
Even the great general, Mr. 8,
Turned and let /x/ decide its own fate,
Could they realize their mistakes before it was too late?
Oh, woe upon the /x/philes!
/x/, in its dying breath, looked back and recalled
The time when /x/philes loved each other, whores and all,
And, with a sigh, it silently called
For help. But who would save the /x/philes?
But then, in a paranormal miracle of sorts,
Something strange happened in that broken fort,
For, who did appear, but the elusive Ded Bort,
Who looked sadly at the /x/philes.
Cthulhu was there, and Skeleton Jelly came, too,
With hundreds of popping skeletons, and ghosts moaning OooOoo,
Squidward and the bleeding girl with no eyes were the last two
To come to the aid of the /x/philes.
But, wait! From the woods came another, one stoutly and tall,
A solemn king, that gaunt ghastly god of them all,
For Slender had heard, and heeded the call,
He stood before the /x/philes.
Then, in a voice unearthly low,
With thin hand held high and blank face bowed low,
He spoke to their hearts, telepathic and slow,
"Friends, I think you should learn a thing or two from your foe."
Not a sound came from the /x/philes.
"They may be jerks, but they are still /b/rothers,
Lolling and trolling and b'awwing with each other,
Names and trips matter not; they love one another.
What say you, you /x/philes?"
"We will help you this once, but when the next tide
Of raiders and spam come, will you still be in this divide?
Will you stop choosing sides? You'll have to decide."
With that, he left the /x/philes.
Then the Saviors of /x/ kicked out /b/,
Mr. 8 came back, huzzah, whopee,
The /x/philes looked around; only then did they see.
Tripfags, avatards, and anons alike,
May be different, may be whores, may be jerks, may be losers, may be fat, may be girls, may be guys, may be douches, may be pretty, maybe not, may be writers, thinkers, lovers, haters, learners,
May be faggots, but we are all /x/philes.