Sick One's Page of Limericks, Rhymes, and Poems

The Poems, and rhymes found here are excerpts from emails passed around by our group before and
after game matches. Many of them refer to the BLUE and RED team since we played many flag matches,
some of them refer to old jokes or reference inside jokes or persons names. They are certainly not intended
to be great works of art, just a bit humorous. They are (no matter how good or bad) all original works of
mine and my team mates. Enjoy, Kevin 'Sick_one' Murphy.

  Simply click on the poem you would like to see
 1) Dead Men Talking  2) A Death in the Mines  3) A Poem for Purple Brian
 4) No Abuse  5) Fate  6) Slime
 7) 'Ode to My Duct Tape  8) Beaten by Paul  9) The Game
 10) The Gang  11) Flying My Pyro  12) Searching
 13) Clueless  14) Whoop-Ass in a Can  15) The Saddest Thing
 16) Are you a "DescentAholic" ?    

Here are a few poems and rhymes from Paul 'Widowmkr' Albers , Enjoy....

  Poems by Paul 'Widowmkr' Albers
 1) A Night in the Shop  2) Dr. Suess  3) Pilot Limericks
 4) Goals  5) Hats Off!  6) The First Rain

Here are a few poems and rhymes from Justin 'Suprflea' Quon , Enjoy....

  Poems by Justin 'Suprflea' Quon
 1) The Tombs Have Been set  2) The Dead Have Spoken  

Here are a few poems and rhymes from Anthony 'Nirvana' Galica , Enjoy....

  Poems by Anthony 'Nirvana' Galica
 1) One Day in the Mines    

Here are a few fine words from Kai 'BigOuch' Arnold , Enjoy....

  Words by Kai 'BigOuch' Arnold
 1) Journey of a young Warrior    

Here are a few poems and rhymes from Andrew 'Tank' Bosworth , Enjoy....

  Poems by Andrew 'Tank' Bosworth
 1) One Simple Game    

Poems by Kevin 'Sick_one' Murphy

Dead Men Talking

I hear dead men talking, making idle threats,
saying they're going to kill me, but they aren't making any bets.

I've seen these pilots come and go, dieing forward and behind,
I've seen them die by laser, rocket, and smart mine.

I have heard them scream out "Cheater" as they disinegrate to dust.
I have felt sorry for many of them, yet kill them all I must.

So mount your ships and lazers, plan your funerals well.
You are about to travel deep into the moon of a living hell.

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A Death In The Mines

I ready my ship, and load up a missle.
Then I see a mega coming, it's howl and it's whistle.

I hit the burners hard, and pitch to the right.
I roll into a turn, and pull it real tight.

I still hear it coming, that sucker's locked on.
My afterburners are dry, and I know I am gone.

I regen in time to see a teammate avenge me.
Another death in the mines, just the way that it should be.

No one said it was pretty, no one said it was fair.
They only promise made, was you might be vaporised there.

So again I mount up, my ship ready for flight.
I switch to the guass, and look for a fight.

The battles blaze `round me, the death and the noise.
Oh, I love flying; the sadness, the joys.

I pick up the flag and race toward the goal.
The Red team bears down with the weapons they stole.

I scream out for cover, as my teammates arrive.
I scoot off to a corner, I am barely alive.

Yes, the dead men are talking, I've heard them before.
At least I made the goal, five more points on the board.

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A Poem for Purple Brian

We have heard the cowards cry, as he whimpers in defeat.
We have seen him throw things as he slumps down in his seat.

He exclaimed "A new team, Purple it will be".
I know he has been practicing, but he's to blind to see.

His fate has long been written, too die there in the mines.
From above we hear only the screaming and the whines.

So purple, red, or blue, it really matters not.
A challanged has been issued, and a lesson must be taught.

So make your ship run ready, make you ship fly true.
There will be death and mayhem, and the object will be you.

I know that we are friends, and that will always be.
But to talk badly of your teammates, why that is heresy.

So I stand ready to thump you, as you knew I would.
The others all make ready, as they know they should.

So your death is certain, a question of only time.
I must now do some work, so I will end this rhyme.

While loading up your megas, shakers and the like.
Bring along a splatter sheild so you don't get blood all over Mike.

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No Abuse

I have recieved no abuse, no taunts, and no tirades.
Niether have I been given awards, or parades.

I worry not of the glory, only of the guilt.
Thats comes with laying you down where tombstones have been built.

I know you think you're ready, and therefore you will die.
Although I'll feel some sorrow, my ship, it must now fly.

I can't wait in the hanger while my victims all fly free.
We must enter the mines, do battle, and see what it is we see.

So say farewell to your family, friends, and your ship.
Soon you'll be killed by the one that they call "Sick".

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To die deep in the mines is noble thing.
My laser stands ready to offer it's pain and sting.

I have forgotten your whimpers, and cries in the night.
As I pummel and kill you, I'll be filled with delight.

I respect the courage that makes you return.
I know some day of your vengence I'll learn.

Yet we all know that the Red team must now die.
Over the fire, in the pan, they must fry.

It is fate that they die here each week.
Come die proud, and quiet, there is no need to speak.

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I want to write a poem, but the words will not come.
What can I say, the RED team is scum.

I have said it before, in the many poems prior.
The RED team is made up of slime, crapp, and liars.

We know it's not their fault, they were born in this state.
We can hardly blame them for the fact they don't rate.

Yet, each week they arrive, to try one more time.
You must give them credit, they are persistent for slime.

They mount up their ships, knowing they'll die.
I am not sure if they're brave, or too dumb to ask why.

I feel it's our duty, not just out pleasure.
The way the BLUE team laughs and kills them at leisure.

Well I don't want to dump all over their dreams.
I do so enjoy, all their cries, and their screams.

So come ahead on, pull up a chair.
Your death will be easy, no one said it was fair.

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The blood will be flowing, it's color is red.
The mines stand ready to swallow the dead.

My joystick is poised, trigger in hand. (no comments)
Megas are loaded, I'm making a stand.

Someone will die, that much is clear.
Load up the plama, and lock down your fear.

As we fly into battle, let it be heard.
We are nothing but geeks and computer nerds.

But for a few hours, each week, in the night.
We are pilots born of fire, and ready to fight.

So quiet those voices you hear in your head.
Look down at you feet, on the floor where you've bled.

Ready yourselves, for another week.
Let the battles do the talking, there is no need to speak.

Write home to your momma's, and tell them farewell.
I can hear it ringing, the toll of deaths bell.

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ode' to my duct tape

I was told to bring Duct tape, for the cracks and rips.
It used to be only for kinky sex with hampsters and whips.....

Now as a pilot I have found a new use.
It can hold my ship together under fire and abuse.

So I've taped on megas, and strapped up my wings.
During the battle I'm sure I'll be taping more things.

We are years in the future, we have fancy tools...
But deep in the mines, a roll of duct tape still rules...

You can tape up some missles, or straighten your guns.
Why if you're a hampster, you can tape closed your buns.

I wonder if the guy knew when he invented this stuff.
That it would make some poor little animals life be so rough.

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Beaten by Paul

So my ship it stood ready, at least I thought it was true.
Yet as you fired your lasers, I glowed a red hue.

I whimpered and whined, till the night was long done.
Then cried with my teddy, till mornings next sun.

It was not my plan to be beaten and reamed.
Though as the night ended you glowed, and you beamed.

You pulled some fine moves, and great was your flying.
I stank up the place, my greatness was dying.

So let it be heard, from here to the sea.
WidowMaker Paul kicked the crap out of me.

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The Game

I've worked on my Pyro, all night and all day.
I've done all I can to be ready for play.

In just a few hours the other pilots arrive.
We'll mount up our ships, into the mines we will dive.

We'll stealth 'round the corners with triggers in hand.
Then lock on to a target and hope our laser rounds land.

We will hear pilots scream out in the night.
Some with great pain, some with delight.

Oh, the ships, and bodies, the floating debris.
What more beautiful sight could a pilot see.

Each week I grow 'itchy', as the night it draws near.
A mix of emotions, some joy, and some fear.

I check my controls, the missles, the guns.
I remember prior games, some lost and some won.

I look to the future, the battles to be.
I dream of the wins, where I fly away free.

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The Gang

The Pyro pilots stand ready to live or to die.
Sick_one's hand is on his throttle, he is ready to fly.

WidowMaker lets loose, and rolls hard to a turn.
Vander whips by in a wild afterburn.

Radiant shines as she blows you to dust.
Nirvana drops a bomb between thoughts of wonder and lust.

Bitch sneaks up quietly, and shoots from behind.
Target blasts away at the victims he finds.

Yes everyone's here to live and to die.
Most of us just revel in the joy as we fly.

Some nights we are good, and others we're bad.
Some games we are happy, and some we are sad.

As long as we're flying, we can't ask much more.
Without death in the mines, life would be such a bore.

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Flying my pyro

I polish my ship, so it gleans in the night.
I adjust my lasers so they target just right.

I dream of the spew and floating debris.
Where I grab all your weapons, and fly away free.

Then comes game night, there is no time to talk.
Some we must kill, and some we must stalk.

The noise it is maddening, but I hear your hearts beat.
The taste of your deaths has grown quite sweet.

My ship always stands ready, to kill and to die.
Like any good pilot, I came here to fly.

So keep one eye ahead, and one on rear view.
If you don't see me coming, you never know what I may do.

So when the dust clears, and settles in space.
Keep your eyes open, I'll be in your face.

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I sit in my pyro, searching for rhymes.
I think of the battles, we've had some good times.

Another week past, game night, it draws near.
I tremble with joy, and maybe some fear.

I have seen all the pilots grow fine at their task.
If you are wondering what, only a dead man would ask.

It is funny how it happens, you hone your aim and your sight.
Funnier still to hear a homing lock closing your eyes for the night.

I have seen it happen to pilots, again and again.
They forsake all else, in the quest for a win.

They no longer care much for family and work.
Now all they can think, is "I am going 'Mega' that jerk".

It is a distant memory, when this was a game.
Now a way of life, we are never the same.

So sorry I am for family and friends.
When winning Descent, the means justifies the ends.

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The Red team came calling to try us again.
Why the way that we beat them was almost a sin.

They thought they were good at what they must do.
It became obvious, they had not a clue.

We trounced them, and pounded as they died in the mines.
We tried to send warnings, but they ignored all the signs.

They left us no choice, kill them we must.
So we pounded with megas until they were dust.

They kept coming back, as if they could win.
We let out a chuckle, and killed them again.

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Whoop-Ass in a Can

Vander sat down, a can of 'Whoop-Ass' in hand.
This was not the cheap stuff, but rather a quality brand.

He spooned it, and served it till the night was all done.
The tally of scores showed clearly that Vander had won.

Some of us whimpered, and some of us cried.
As he served up the 'Whoop-Ass', all of us died.

With laser, guass and megas, we pounded all night.
The battle was grand, and the matches were tight.

When it was over, he smirked and grinned ear to ear.
He insisted he knew that he'd win, and never had fear.

He did not hesitate in offering to come back again.
With a big old can of 'Whoop-Ass' in hand to bring him a win.

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The Saddest Thing

The Blue team stands ready to pummel the Red.
We will hound them, and pound them until they are dead.

We will laugh at their errors.
We will give them night terrors.

We will smile and grin at the screw-ups they make.
Then we'll remind them of every mistake.

As we kill them and pound them we shall laugh in the night.
Why the saddest thing is, they thought they could give us a fight.

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Are you a "DescentAholic" ?

1. Do you lose time from work due to "Descenting" ?

2. Does your spouse think you "Descent" to much ?

3. Is "Descenting" affecting your reputation ?

4. Have you ever felt remorseful after "Descenting"

5. Do you crave "Descenting" every day ?

6. Do you want to "Descent" again the next morning ?

7. Does "Descenting" cause you to have difficulty sleeping ?

8. Is "Descenting" jeopardizing your job/bussiness ?

9. Do you "Descent" alone ?

10. Have you ever been in a Hospital or institution due to "Descenting" ?


If you(or I) answered yes to more than a few of these.... we are descentaholics.

Funny, I answered yes to alot of them..... I thought you might enjoy the humor.

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Poems by Paul 'Widowmkr' Albers

A Night in the Shop

It has been a whole week, since my last fix.
Now in short time, I get to show my new tricks.

I know it's still true, I must watch my back
Even though I am the one, who is on the attack.

Nirvana, Target, BadMike, Radiant, Fryin' and Sick_One
Please realize your constant deaths, are all in good fun.

So, I give you Widowmkr, using the new VooDoo
Guaranteed to turn your ship, into doggie Doo-Doo.

I know you'll feel anger, as you proceed through the night
My only recommendation: hit the spacebar, and hold on tight.

One thing is for sure, we'll all be having fun
No matter who is hitting us, with that DAMN weapon.

Pizza, Diet Pepsi and killing, there can't be much more
Another great night in the Shop, it's never a bore!

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Dr. Suess

Dr. Suess I am not,
Just a sure shot.

There's one thing that's true,
Thank God we're not team BLUE.

For when you see RED,
You know you'll be dead.

Please stop your crying,
When the missles are flying.

It is only in good fun,
Though the RED has won.

Though BLUE has cheated,
They were again defeated.

Now I shall say, good luck to you all,
The RED team don't need it, The BLUE team shall fall.

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Pilot Limericks

There once was a pilot named Target
His plane flew by looking lethargic.
A corner he finds
Down in the mines,
One can call it his La Brea Tar pit.

There once was a pilot named Sick_One
Who played with a thimble on his right thumb.
If you should pause
Then expect the gauss,
For your next death, will be by this weapon.

There once was a pilot named Nirvana
His cross hairs will soon be upon ya.
His goal is to win
But the ship he is in,
Can't find it's way out of the lava.

There once was a pilot named Radiant
Who considered the night well spent.
Her ship is not quick
But for her next trick,
To bury you in six feet of cement.

There once was a pilot named BadMike
Who's goal is to kill you on sight.
Start the damn game
He's searching for fame,
Now he's in charge of the shop light.

There once was a pilot named Vander
Who's not quite used to this slander.
He will soon find
What comes to mind,
Is, "What's good for the goose, is good for the Gander".

There is *now* a Demigod named Widowmkr
He can even dodge your wimpy Earthshaker.
You beg for mercy
While on one knee,
Dear God, please hide me from Widowmkr.

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Last week Sick_One had the most wins,
His goal tonight, to do it again.

A week ago Target came close to victory,
this weeks goal, to be more slippery.

Last week Radiant fought true,
Now her goal, to steal our spew.

Vander last week only four wins away,
This weeks goal, a spot so he can play.

Then there's Nirvana, his wins totaled zero,
Goal is to mimic Sick_one, his new hero.

As for Widowmkr, with his new techniques,
His goal, to destroy you while he sleeps.

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Hats Off!

My hats off to you,
for leaving your spew.

There is no need to cry,
As I fly right on by.

Just take a deep breath,
and get over your death.

All that you will need,
fast spacebar pressing speed.

Now, the state you are in,
is just candy for my win.

Please don't get mad,
and don't be sad.

As I lay you down to rest,
You realize, "Widowmkr is the Best!"
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The First Rain

Outside I do see, the first rain of the year.
Now this does mean, that your death is near.

>From high up in the sky, I see the rain fall.
So similar to your spew, left all over the hall.

So many puddles everywhere, the rain does form.
Like your lost blood, you had since you were born.

The water flows freely, in search of the gutters
Unlike your ship, which just sits and sputters.

Now into the rivers and straight to the Bay.
"Widowmkr kills you", you think "No F(&^ing Way".

So, enjoy the First Rain, on this nice day.
For in just a few hours, a game we must play.

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Poems by Justin 'Suprflea' Quon

The Tombs

The Tombs Have Been Set.....Or Have They?

The tombs have been set, and you're all going to die.
Please, come at me, don't ever be shy.
You may die, you may live, you might even score.
Just keep coming so I may kill you more and more.

The tombs have been set, and you will be shot down.
I don't want to see pouting, I don't want to see frowns.
Though great friends we are, kill you I must,
I have been put under the spell, called "blood lust."

The tombs have been set, you will be in hell.
There is no stopping, there are no bells.
Time is of the essence, I must go to bed.
I will be dreaming, of spots colored red (your blood).

We are all bound, in the light of this game.
From Descent, to D2, we have been able to tame.
Your fates have been written, the tombstones are done.
So who will win? The one they call "Sick_One."

The tombs have been set, or have they?

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 The Dead Have Spoken

The dead have spoken, and the annoying have died...
They all have said "I am the best" yet they've all been fried...

They try to kill me, with all their might...
They even try to put up a good fight...

I kill and toast, and feel sorry for none...
When they see me, they's useless to run

There is no way, that you can win...
To make me bow(to you)...would be a sin...

You think you can win, with that t-shirt of yours?
I'll go get one at a local parallax store.

Say all you'll lose all the time.
Your life is worth nothing to me...except maybe a dime...

I've risen from the bottom, and up to the top...
So stop your whinning...STOP, STOP, STOP!!

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Poems by Anthony 'Nirvana' Galica

One Day in the Mines

I strap on my belt and power my pyro.
I sit still as the engine spins the gyro.
Off I fly ready to kill.
Murdering others against their will.

Sick_one flys by leaving only a smart.
I quicky slide left and at him I dart.
My lasers fly quickly, peircing his ship.
Now I bet he feels sorry for all the hampsters he's whipped.

Target swoops down, quad 4's flaring.
I quickly duck and target his bearing.
I fire and fire as his ship loses altitude.
You might say, he is one dead dude.

Radiant flys by without a sound.
My ships seeming impenetrable hull she wishes to pound.
Our Guasses spring into action, but I dodge every shot.
Unfortunately for her, she did not.

Badmike flies at me fast and furious.
I sit back, laugh and realize he must be delirious.
It was not smart of him to challenge me.
Too bad I left him no time to flee.

Widowmkr strolls by, confident in voodoo.
"I can take Nirvana" he says, unaware of what will ensue.
One, two, three plasma blasts to the head.
This poor soldier is definately dead.

Vander shoots missles into the crowd.
As I swoop out of the extremely bright cloud.
I blast and blast away at his shield.
Unaware I have already made the kill.

As you can see, I am clearly the best.
I leave all other pilots in their tombs to rest.
Never Again to me will they cast their dare.
For I will kill all, so you better beware!

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Words by Kai 'BigOuch' Arnold

Journey of a young Warrior

Episode 1

Okay, so I haven't made anyone tremble with fear yet, but I must advise all
of you to begin playing each Thursday night as though it was the last, er,
non-losing night that you'll ever know. I was walking down University Ave.
the other night and this bleary-eyed drifter (who I immediately recognized
as an enlightened prophet) told me this, in a very shaky yet ominously
booming voice:

From humble beginnings will come The Sacred and Mighty Big Ouch (B.O. for
short - maybe that name wasn't such a good idea), who will smite all those
who once smote him way too much those first few Thursdays, as soon as he
(b.o.) figures out if it's better to use an Electro-Ouiji-Ruminator
(keyboard), or Guiding Staff of SideWind (joystick). The day will come
whence he will rise to the occasion on the fourth day of the quarter-month
<insert Rocky II theme here> and be victorious, and will win Contest of the
Flags alone against the five other warriors.

"Locusts and plague, Shakers and Gauss!"

Little Ouch.

Episode 2 I found myself wandering around Shoreline Blvd. last Thursday night in
a bit of a daze after yet another sound tromping in the Descent II match. I
had done marginally better, but improvement wasn't coming fast enough. With
my mind swimming around visions of Electro-ruminators and Voodoo cards, I
resolved quietly to myself that I would someday become champion, and defeat
the Dark Side. Just at that moment, a nearby bush shook and I jumped back
in fright.

"So impatient are you, young Ouch?", I heard someone in the bush say, in a
trembling voice that reminded me of the late Jim Henson.

I peered closer to the bush, to try and get a look at who was speaking to me.

"How do you know my name?", I asked, defensively.

"It is not your name that I know, but your legend," said the voice. A small
figure slowly emerged from the branches. It was about two feet high, and
wrapped in an old grey tunic. It had green skin, a small oval head with
long pointed ears, and large round eyes that made me feel all at once
comfortable in my surroundings. And then I realized immediately who it was.

"Yoda!" I exclaimed. All at once his face turned sour.

"NOT YODA AM I! A HACK, Yoda, was he! Imitator! Puppeteer's hand up his
butt, had he! The real thing, am I! Here to help you defeat evil. Frank,
am I named."

"But how?" I asked, sorry to have offended Frank.

"Too indecisive are you. Always at conflict - 'should I use keyboard,
should I use joystick' - everything not black and white like you see. Obey
the dynamics of the Force," he said, closing his eyes slowly.

Wary to any easy answers, I asked: "This doesn't involve hainous acts with
rodents and duct tape, does it?"

"NO! That is done to death. Not always work, anyway. To combine light and
dark side, must you learn!" he explained, opening his eyes wide and stepping

"Ahhh! That's it!" I shouted, spinning around and accidentally knocking
Frank on his rear end. "I need to combine the keyboard and joystick
together, to triple-cord!!!"

At this Frank sat back and smiled wickedly.


********** Sick_one Response to Episode 2 ****************
Now as far as a sound tromping.... well don't go overboard...
you are improving at a geometric rate. We (the group as a whole)
have seen this many times.....

Path to enlightenment, traveled have we. Like 'Ouch' - young
were we once. Frank, correct is he, impatient are you. The Dark
and the Light, find balance you must. Asylum Pilots, enemies not,
teachers are we. Kill you, as a favor we do. Understand you must,
"F%&k!, F*&k!, F&%k you all!!!" is a cry of delight. (I must be
just delighted to death the last few weeks). Dark is light, light
is dark, truth you must seek. Young Ouch, the force you must feel.
In the guass, feel it you will.

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Poems by Andrew 'Tank' Bosworth

One Simple Game

One simple game
that's what they say,
as tongues of flame
destroy and decay.

6 human players
1 simple game,
they became slayers
enlightened by rage.

Sick_one sets sights
and then swoops below,
Nirvana will suffer
when he delivers a blow.

Flea rolls aside
and his misslock is sounding,
he's in for a ride
as his heart begins pounding.

Wildshot aims
his hand sure and steady,
Snipers in flames
His trigger still ready.

Blue turned the room
and there are 5 in the bank,
that shaker went BOOM
'twas the one they call TANK!

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