Today's poems [2.1.18]
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Here I sit Same as ever
Dirty arse, got no paper
Boss is calling,
Can not linger
Stuff it, I'll use me finger
Sent by Sarah
Abort, Retry, Ignore
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore."
Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.
Carefully, I weighed my options.
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly, I must now adopt one:
Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore.
With my fingers pale and trembling,
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee
Finally I pressed a key -
But on the screen what did I see?
Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore."
I tried to catch the chips off-guard -
I pressed again, but twice as hard.
Luck was just not in the cards.
I saw what I had seen before.
Now I typed in desperation
Trying random combinations
Still there came the incantation:
Choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw an awful sight:
A bold and blinding flash of light -
A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core.
I saw the screen collapse and die
"Oh no - my database," I cried.
I thought I heard a voice reply,
"You'll see your data Nevermore."
To this day I do not know
The place to which lost data goes.
I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored.
But, as for productivity, well
I fear that it goes straight to hell.
And that's the tale I have to tell.
Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
There was an old fellow named Rapp
Who had a job all considered a snap.
In the insane asylum
He'd grade cunts and file 'em,
And bi-weekly he'd rub up their nap
You've heard the tale of Robin Hood,
And how he did poor people good,
There is more to this Famous story,
Of Sherwood Forest's Pride and Joy
At night when all robbing was done,
The merry men would have some fun,
In fact it would be fair to say,
The Merry men were rather gay.
As Little John starts to unwind,
Robin takes his from behind,
As they frolic in the grass,
Robin rams it up his arse.
One night when they were all at play,
A gorgeous maiden came their way,
She saunter up to Friar Tuck,
And Said "I'm Marion, wanna Fuck?"
Friar couldn't believe his ears,
She is offering sex to all us queers."
While he recovered from his shock,
Robin presented her with his cock.
Marion's clothes were off in a flash,
The 3 merry men all had a bash.
For Marion this was sheer bliss.
As they filled her with ever orifice,
When all was done she gave wine,
"Thank You boys for the lovely time,
"But for your pleasure you must pay,
"I've got the pox, have a nice day."
"Now listen here, "said Friar Tuck.
"We don't really give a fuck,
"The laughs on you, you silly cow,
"We've got AIDS, so who's fucked now."
A widow who lived in Rangoon
Hung a black-ribboned wreath on her womb,
"To remind me," she said,
"Of my husband who's dead,
And of what put him into his tomb."
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