Though I speak with the tongues of Bwog and of students, but have not pitches, I am become as sounding Spec, or a tinkling Jester.

And though I have the gift of shitposting, and understand all Columbia, and though I have all grapes so I could feed many, and have not pitches, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my snacks to feed the masses, and though I give my web space to the ads, and have not pitches, it profiteth me nothing.

Pitches suffreth long, and are kind, pitches envieth not, vaunteth not itself, are not puffed up,

Doth not behave themselves unseemly, seeketh not their own, are kind of easily provoked, thinketh some evil,

Rejoiceth not in sticking it to spec, but rejoiceth in Bwog,

Posteth (some) things, writeth (some) things, mocketh (some) things, praiseth (some) things,

Pitches never faileth, but whether there be empty talking space, they shall fail, if there be no tongues, they shall cease, and whether there be knowledge, take it to the library,

For we know in part, and we pitch in part,

But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is perfect shall be posted,

When I was a student, I spake as a student, I understood as a student, I thought as a student, but when I became a Bwogger, I put away such studentish things,

For now we see through our site, darkly, but then face to face, now I know your pitches, but then shall they be known even as also I am known.

And now come to Lerner 510, at 9pm this Sunday, and bring the greatest of those, your pitches.

I’ll be apPAULled if you don’t show up via Wikipedia