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Say, "There was a goth-chick named Daisy..."
"There was a goth-chick named Daisy
Who was an agonizingly hazy
She did LSD,
as goth-chicks sh'n't be
And ended up totally crazy"
Both the audience and your opponent recognize the feebleness of your pathetic poetry. Schwarzharz looks at you with utter contempt and says deep, dark words from the bowels of his tormented soul:
"Ach! Wer hat mein käse gegessen? Wer? Ich brauch' meinen käse! Mein liber käse! Wo bist du? Wo bist du?"
The audience applauds at Schwarzhart's gothinesss, though his inability to rhyme is noted. "Get off the stage, buddy", the ref says, "you've lost."
GAME OVER