Software poetry.

August 12, 2000
URL:http://www.drdobbs.com/windows/sentimental-summer-songs/184404164

Before she set off on her summer hols, Verity Stob was in lyrical mood.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee with my burgeoning. The fruit

Of our unwitting union shall take root

On this PC beneath thy foolish gaze.

I love thee with my pois'nous jealousy.

A cuckoo hatchling clearing out the nest,

Unslain sibling script files I detest:

Know no other VBS but me.

I love you for your nave double clicks.

Up your virgin reg'stry my love sticks.

I love to rifle through your ddress book,

I love my half-wit slave, your bleak Outlook.

O Lover, when you next read 'I Love You',

Remember the old song: be sure it's true.

Dear Trial User, thanks for pulling this down

It's a beta really but you needn't frown.

The install is dodgy and the archive's large

It's too big for the Net but I haven't got a CD-ROM writer,

CD-ROM writer.

CD-ROM writer

writer

writer

It's a dirty hack of a dirty script

With a two meg runtime, even zipped.

I'll rewrite it soon in C++

I need to steal a compiler so I've gotta get a CD-ROM writer

CD-ROM writer...

If you find it useful will you spread the word?

And ask for new stuff, please not too absurd.

Registration is just twenty quid

And I want the dosh 'cos I've gotta get a CD-ROM writer,

CD-ROM writer...

I rest my head on yours, dear,

I fiddle with your keys

They're stiff with dirt and dead skin

A haven for disease.

Your mouse is dead, your cover's off,

Your network card is raided.

Your 'mobo' now is obsolete

You cannot be upgraded.

When you were new, one hundred meg

Seemed really rather fast,

But now they count in gigahertz

I fear our time has passed...

Some day they'll dump me too, dear,

For exactly the same cause.

Until they come to get us

I shall rest my head on yours.

Oh the English say the weather's English grey all year

Except for three weeks in July

When there's some 'blue cloud' in the sky.

Then office workers, diligent and shirkers, cheer.

They eschew their daily Wimpy

To squeeze into something skimpy and sip beer.

But as they lock the door to go and score a tan

An irritable voice cries, 'Leave that fan!'

Vampires and programmers

Stay in in the lunchtime sun.

It would be most invidious

To claim techies aren't fastidious.

Direct appeals, offers of free meals,

Won't convince them that it's done

To eat their treat from Tesco

Al fresco.

On a nearby green there's a pleasant scene

Of hilarity and snickers

'Cos an HR lass, lying on the grass,

Is showing us her knickers.

Her would-be bloke would swear fit to choke

But he's not here to stop the fun:

For vampires and programmers

Stay in in the lunchtime sun.

Vampires and programmers

Stay in in the lunchtime sun.

Our intellectual elite

Are ineffectual in heat.

Hidden in the gloom of a fetid room

Browsing Grauniad or Sun,

They waste Lunch Hour in this shelter,

And swelter.

At the Ball and Crown an accounting clown

Is getting rather merry.

Near the south car park see the sales girls lark

As they lick their Ben and Jerry. (Who?!)

By the cricket square romps a naughty pair

Her top has come undone.

But vampires and programmers

Stay in in the lunchtime

in in the lunchtime

in in the lunchtime sun!

How about that, dear boy?

Terms of Service | Privacy Statement | Copyright © 2024 UBM Tech, All rights reserved.