"$3.47" lyrics
(feat. Schaffer The Darklord, Ash Tell Em, Phone Losers of America & Longmont Potion Castle)
Welcome back to the Poecast. The story so far: missing records, strange writings, a trail of fictional crime scenes... Poe's last words? Disputed. "Reynolds"? Or "Lord help my poor soul"? Maybe they hold the key
But this mystery isn't just ours... it's everyone's. Caller, you're on the Poecast. Who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Well, yeah, I mean... it was clearly a case of narratological suicide. Poe's narrators are all unreliable, and as Wayne Booth reminds us, "unreliability creates interpretive instability." His death wasn't caused by an assailant, it was the inevitable outcome of authorial self-erasure within an unstable narrative frame
Give it up! That's not a suspect, that's a master's thesis. Now I know why English majors are all being replaced by AI. Alright, moving on. Caller two, who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Yeah, hi, uh... I actually saw Poe, like, the other day. This was, uh, last Tuesday night down at the 7-Eleven off of Charles Street. He's in there by the nacho machine, wearing three scarves, maybe four? Looked like three, but could've been four... and he's talking to the Ravens mascot. Like, the Ravens mascot. Full uniform, head on, beak polished, just kind of browsing the beef jerky aisle like it was no big deal
And Poe, he's sipping this Big Gulp, cherry Slurpee mixed with black coffee. Real thick. Like tar. Like cough syrup that's been left in the sun. He's dunking a Slim Jim in it like it's biscotti. Dunk, chew, sip. Dunk, chew, sip. I counted, uh, seven dunks? Maybe eight
Meanwhile, the mascot's nodding politely, feathers ruffling, and Poe's reciting "the Raven," but only the part where he rhymes "door" with "nevermore." "Door, nevermore. Door, nevermore." Louder and louder, so by the time he drifts up to the counter, people trying to buy scratch-offs can't even get through because he's just parked there, chanting
Then he asks the clerk for change for a two-dollar bill. Calls it "blood money." And the clerk's like, "Sir, this isn't legal tender, this is Andrew Jackson with a crow taped over his face."
Okay, okay... so, next caller. Caller, who do you think killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Poe gets mad, wings a bag of Funyuns into the lottery display, knocks over three rows of 5-Hour Energy bottles, and storms out. So, he climbs into this Dodge Caravan... real dented. Left side dented, right side dented, like two dents competing. Maryland plates, expired tags, license frame says "Coop De Ville Auto Mall," you know? The one down off the bypass, next to that abandoned Chinese buffet?
Anyway, the Ravens mascot gets into the passenger seat, feathers sticking out the window. They peel out, and Poe's got the Big Gulp hanging out the driver's side, just whipping it around like a censer at a funeral, spraying Slurpee everywhere!
It's cherry-coffee rain, sticky and steaming, hitting windshields. People are honking, wipers going full blast, but it just makes the smear worse, like a blood-red Rorschach test on every car in traffic
Nope. This is insane. Enough. Next caller. Caller, you're live, who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Some guy on a scooter wipes out, skids into a planter... a dog starts barking, slips on the sidewalk, takes out its owner... somebody drops two hot dogs in the parking lot... gone, just floating down the gutter in a sticky flood
And Poe's screaming "Nevermore!" out the window like a madman. The mascot's flapping his wings, feathers flying, car swerving, they hit a speed bump, half of the Slurpee goes airborne, splatters across the windshield of a church van. Choir kids start screaming... the gothic baptism turns into a full-on apocalypse, if you catch my drift
So... who killed Edgar Allan Poe? I don't know, man. He seemed pretty alive to me, but I do know he still owes 7-Eleven $3.47, and a fresh bag of Funyuns
Once again, people... phone pranks are not funny. It's not the '90s anymore! Can we please get someone with a real theory? Alright, let's take one more call
Hi, this is Sarah Helen Whitman... Edgar's last fiancée. I know for a fact that Poe didn't die of alcohol or conspiracies. He died of a broken heart
A... broken heart?
Yes. As we all know, everyone he loved was taken from him... Virginia, his mother, his friends... even our own bond couldn't last. And yet, I don't believe he ever truly died. I believe he still lives on... in his writing, in whispers, in the shadows
Rumor has it he still wanders, still knocking, still pleading, still reckoning with his mistakes... still searching for the peace he never found in life
Ms. Whitman, are you saying Poe's still with us?
Not alive, not dead, just drifting... where all we see, all we seem, dissolves, like an endless dream, within a dream
But this mystery isn't just ours... it's everyone's. Caller, you're on the Poecast. Who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Well, yeah, I mean... it was clearly a case of narratological suicide. Poe's narrators are all unreliable, and as Wayne Booth reminds us, "unreliability creates interpretive instability." His death wasn't caused by an assailant, it was the inevitable outcome of authorial self-erasure within an unstable narrative frame
Give it up! That's not a suspect, that's a master's thesis. Now I know why English majors are all being replaced by AI. Alright, moving on. Caller two, who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Yeah, hi, uh... I actually saw Poe, like, the other day. This was, uh, last Tuesday night down at the 7-Eleven off of Charles Street. He's in there by the nacho machine, wearing three scarves, maybe four? Looked like three, but could've been four... and he's talking to the Ravens mascot. Like, the Ravens mascot. Full uniform, head on, beak polished, just kind of browsing the beef jerky aisle like it was no big deal
And Poe, he's sipping this Big Gulp, cherry Slurpee mixed with black coffee. Real thick. Like tar. Like cough syrup that's been left in the sun. He's dunking a Slim Jim in it like it's biscotti. Dunk, chew, sip. Dunk, chew, sip. I counted, uh, seven dunks? Maybe eight
Meanwhile, the mascot's nodding politely, feathers ruffling, and Poe's reciting "the Raven," but only the part where he rhymes "door" with "nevermore." "Door, nevermore. Door, nevermore." Louder and louder, so by the time he drifts up to the counter, people trying to buy scratch-offs can't even get through because he's just parked there, chanting
Then he asks the clerk for change for a two-dollar bill. Calls it "blood money." And the clerk's like, "Sir, this isn't legal tender, this is Andrew Jackson with a crow taped over his face."
Okay, okay... so, next caller. Caller, who do you think killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Poe gets mad, wings a bag of Funyuns into the lottery display, knocks over three rows of 5-Hour Energy bottles, and storms out. So, he climbs into this Dodge Caravan... real dented. Left side dented, right side dented, like two dents competing. Maryland plates, expired tags, license frame says "Coop De Ville Auto Mall," you know? The one down off the bypass, next to that abandoned Chinese buffet?
Anyway, the Ravens mascot gets into the passenger seat, feathers sticking out the window. They peel out, and Poe's got the Big Gulp hanging out the driver's side, just whipping it around like a censer at a funeral, spraying Slurpee everywhere!
It's cherry-coffee rain, sticky and steaming, hitting windshields. People are honking, wipers going full blast, but it just makes the smear worse, like a blood-red Rorschach test on every car in traffic
Nope. This is insane. Enough. Next caller. Caller, you're live, who killed Edgar Allan Poe?
Some guy on a scooter wipes out, skids into a planter... a dog starts barking, slips on the sidewalk, takes out its owner... somebody drops two hot dogs in the parking lot... gone, just floating down the gutter in a sticky flood
And Poe's screaming "Nevermore!" out the window like a madman. The mascot's flapping his wings, feathers flying, car swerving, they hit a speed bump, half of the Slurpee goes airborne, splatters across the windshield of a church van. Choir kids start screaming... the gothic baptism turns into a full-on apocalypse, if you catch my drift
So... who killed Edgar Allan Poe? I don't know, man. He seemed pretty alive to me, but I do know he still owes 7-Eleven $3.47, and a fresh bag of Funyuns
Once again, people... phone pranks are not funny. It's not the '90s anymore! Can we please get someone with a real theory? Alright, let's take one more call
Hi, this is Sarah Helen Whitman... Edgar's last fiancée. I know for a fact that Poe didn't die of alcohol or conspiracies. He died of a broken heart
A... broken heart?
Yes. As we all know, everyone he loved was taken from him... Virginia, his mother, his friends... even our own bond couldn't last. And yet, I don't believe he ever truly died. I believe he still lives on... in his writing, in whispers, in the shadows
Rumor has it he still wanders, still knocking, still pleading, still reckoning with his mistakes... still searching for the peace he never found in life
Ms. Whitman, are you saying Poe's still with us?
Not alive, not dead, just drifting... where all we see, all we seem, dissolves, like an endless dream, within a dream
