Pardon My French
The finest culture
Comes from Frontz
And hoe-knee-swat-key
Molly-ponce!
Sally learned
To speak in French
She’s now a dame
And not a wench
Dick acquired
That language fair
And now he’s swayve
And deb-an-err
Speaking French
Will prove you’re better
Show you’ve got a
Rays-on-debtor
Read in French
And sack-ray-blue!
You’re sure to find
Your tom-pair-doo
Write in French
And you’ll be famous
Just like muss-your
Albert Camus
You can bet
Your dairy-air
Your French will prove
Your salve-war-fare
He who is
A true believer
Shows his Gallic
Joyed-a-fever
French cuisine
Is all the rage
So drink Bored-O
With soft from-age
Wear a little
Black beret
And eat cross-ants
With French calf-A
Then there’s all
That art you know
So speak bow-czar
And art-new-foe
And what a joy
To smoke Get-tans
While watching films
That come from Cans
I guess it’s not
An easy job
To be a phony
Stuck-up snob…
Such games in Frontz
They also play
But there “c’est snob”
To speak anglais!
Since My Valentine Got A Computer…
Since my Valentine got a computer
My love life has taken a hit.
Nothing I say is important
Unless it’s a byte or a bit.
Before she got her new laptop,
Everything was just fine;
Now she says we can’t talk
Unless we both go online.
“But honey,” I said, “I’m attached to you;
Love is what I feel.”
“That keyword isn’t relevant,”
She said, with eyes of steel.
She clicked the keyboard furiously;
The screen was all she could see,
And then to my horror and shame,
She started describing me:
“Your motherboard needs upgrading;
Your OS needs help, too.
And you definitely need a big heatsink
To cool your CPU.”
“Don’t flame me, my sweet,” I pleaded.
“Not on Valentine’s Day.”
“Fix the bugs, and I’ll see,” she said,
While looking at me with dismay.
“What ever you want, my darling;
Whatever you need; you call it.
I’ll upload or download anything,
And then I’ll go install it.”
(Her hostile CD keeps replaying,
And though I don’t want to fight her,
Is this what I want for a Valentine?
I’ve been burned; can I rewrite her?)
“Are you all hard drive now,” I asked
“Is there no software in you?
Don’t you remember the good times?
Let our memories see us through.”
“LOL,” she said to me, chuckling.
“You’re nothing but adware.
“I’ve got four gigs of memory;
I’ve got no problem there.”
“Please, honey, we can save it,” I said.
“Our love means more than that.”
“That’s not in my cache; we’re going to crash,”
She said, as she turned me down flat.
(This woman has really changed;
Do I really want to chase her?
More and more I’m thinking
It might be nice to erase her.)
“Aw, honey, don’t talk like that,” I said.
“Can’t we just plug and play?
I hereby accept default,
And I’m yours, my love, come what may.
My goal is to make you happy;
I want to be your portal,
But your sudden, distant coldness
Would test the strongest mortal.
If we need a brand new interface,
So we can FTP,
I’m your go along, get along guy,
And I want you to stay with me.”
“If you want to get into my favorites,” she said,
And you want to get past my encryption,
If you want to get through my firewall,
Here is my only prescription.”
“First, put up your own Web site,
And e-mail me when it’s done.
I’ll check your page rank with Google,
And tell you if you’re the one.”
My life has become a real trial,
Since my Valentine got a computer.
If I want her to care about me again,
I guess I’ll have to reboot her.
Ode To Your Computer
If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
And the bus is interrupted as a very last resort,
And the address of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
Then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.
If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
And the double clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
And your data is corrupted ’cause the index doesn’t hash,
Then your situation’s hopeless and your system’s gonna crash.
If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
Says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
But your packets want to tunnel on another protocol,
That’s repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall,
And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
So your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse,
Then you may as well reboot it, and let it go out with a bang,
‘Cause as sure as I’m a poet, the sucker’s gonna hang.
When the copy of your floppy’s getting sloppy on the disk,
And the micro-code instructions cause unnecessary risk,
Then you have to flash your memory and you’ll want to ram your ROM,
So quickly turn off your compu…
The Killer’s Apology
The Killer’s Apology
John Scalzi
Here I sit, upon death row
Electrodes fastened to my toes.
And though I know that I must die
I think I should apologize
To those I know that I have wronged,
Beaten, strangled, stuck with prongs
It was not what I really meant
All those deaths were accidents.
I did not mean to murder Sam
Though I beat him with a ham.
He said the meat was much too dry
So I used his head to tenderize.
And I did not mean to dispatch Sue
by filling both her lungs with glue.
I should have known there were better
Ways for us to stick together.
I have to say I quite regret
Defenestrating my pal Chet.
But really, how was I to know
That window wouldn’t just stay closed?
Becky’s death — a random fluke;
My prints were planted on that flute.
And though they searched high and low
They never found that piccolo.
I spare a moment for good ol’ Jake
Who I deposited in the lake.
I always thought that he could swim;
I guess the restraints are what did him in.
And oh, how I do miss Peter
Though I stuffed him in a water heater.
He might not have made it in this verse
If I hadn’ta stuck him in head first.
Bonnie, my bonnie, my, what a lass!
Taken down by methane gas.
If I only knew then what I know now:
Don’t ever mess with a farting cow.
And I’ll admit, the point is moot
Albert I did electrocute.
Children, never take this risk:
Water and toasters just don’t mix.
Wendy was an awful neighbor
But I’m sorry about the elevator.
I did not know she was in the thing
When I snipped the cable like a string.
I’d like to remember my good friend Drew
Who I served up in a barbecue.
It was his idea, really, because you see
He always liked to say “Eat Me.”
I think I was misunderstood
When I tied up Katie in those woods
She always said she liked the bears
So I put honey in her hair.
Alan claimed he was a jock
So I crushed him with a rock.
His boast that he was made of steel
Was something rather less than real.
No one was more surprised than Joan
That ferrets stripped her to the bone.
Reflecting, I see I was foolhardy
To place bacon up and down her body.
Mike had on an amazing grin
When I set him in liquid nitrogen.
I did not do so for the hell of it;
I wanted to put him in his element.
Bob declared I was a buffoon;
I set him aloft in a weather balloon.
But there is not one who felt more grief
When that balloon popped at 45,000 feet.
Jeremy was timid, Jeremy was shy
I placed him in an oven and set it on fry.
I should have known better, that this was not
The way to help women to think he was hot.
So you see every death was quite accidental
I would not blame you if you thought I was mental.
But I would say that it is rather as such:
My problem was just that I cared too darn much.
Now here I go, to meet my God
And all of my friends that I put in the sod.
I have just one wish, if you lean close to hear:
It’s to help them up there as I helped them down here.
Dr. Seuss’s Technical Manual
Dr. Seuss’s Technical Manual
What If Dr. Seuss Did Technical Writing?
Here’s an easy game to play.
Here’s an easy thing to say:
If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
And the bus is interrupted as a very last resort,
And the address of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
Then the socket packet pocket has an error to report!
If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
And the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
And your data is corrupted ’cause the index doesn’t hash,
Then your situation’s hopeless, and your system’s gonna crash!
You can’t say this?
What a shame sir!
We’ll find you
Another game sir.
If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
Says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
But your packets want to tunnel on another protocol,
That’s repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall,
And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss
So your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse,
Then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
’Cause as sure as I’m a poet, the sucker’s gonna hang!
When the copy of your floppy’s getting sloppy on the disk,
And the microcode instructions cause unnecessary risc,
Then you have to flash your memory and you’ll want to RAM your ROM.
Quickly turn off the computer and be sure to tell your mom!
Beautifully Done
I have no idea who put this together, but it’s wonderful!
Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,
For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.
We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one’s seen him since.
We danced to ‘Little Darlin,’ and sang to ‘Stagger Lee’
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.
And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.
We didn’t have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.
We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,
And Oprah couldn’t talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had our share of heroes, we never thought they’d go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.
For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We’d never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren’t named Jefferson , and Zeppelins were not Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkees lived in trees,
Madonna was Mary in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We’d never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.
And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and ‘gay’ meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never co-ed in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We hadn’t seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.
And hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for those dysfunctions in the Land That Made Me, Me.
There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda , and cats were not called Bill.
And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me, Me.
But all things have a season, or so we’ve heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.
They send us invitations to join AARP,
We’ve come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, Me.
So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they’re using smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children’s children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Make My Boobies One More Size
Make My Boobies One More Size
Biggie Spears
Oh booby booby
Oh booby booby
Oh booby booby
My chest was supposed to grow
My cleavage wasn’t right yeah
Oh boobies boobies
My breasts are completely full
And now my sweater’s tight yeah
Surgery
I wanna be a size “d”
Bigger memories
I want them to show
Now oh because
Chorus:
My chest flatness was killing me
And i
I must confess
I paid for these
(paid for these)
I look 32
I’m just a child
I am a crime
Make my boobies one more size
Oh baby baby
I got double D’s it’s true
Now you’ve all been blinded
Oh pretty boobies
Your so big and oh so new
That’s just the way I planned it
Golly
Rolling Stone was naughty
See me baby
Barely wearing clothes
Now oh because
Chorus:
My chest flatness was killing me
And i
I must confess
I paid for these
(paid for these)
I look 32
I’m just a child
I am a crime
Make my boobies one more size
A Time For Unity
A Time For Unity
By
Tiffany Renee Johnson
There’s a time for laughter,
There’s a time for sadness,
But the most important thing of all,
Is that there’s a time for unity.
There’s a time for joy,
There’s a time for sorrow,
But the most important thing of all,
Is that there’s a time for unity.
There’s a time where a group of individuals gather together to cherish every minutte, day, hour, month and last but not least, year that they have to be with each other.
There’s a time for peace,
there’s a time for hope,
but the most important thing of all,
Is that there’s a time for unity.
There’s a time for comfort,
There’s a time to love,
But the most important thing of all,
Is that there’s a time for unity.
There’s a time to hug,
There’s a time to hold someone who’s in need for encouraging words,
But the most important thing of all,
Is that there’s a time for unity.
The Night Before Christmas, Part I
The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas–Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap and whole works!
I’ve busted my ass for damn near a year,
Instead of “Thanks Santa”–what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money–the reindeer a little fight.
Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and Vixen had AIDS.
And just when I thought that b things would get better
Those assholes from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes–if that ain’t damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?
And the kids these days–they all are the pits
They want the impossible–those mean little shits
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls–their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo’s–no request for them,
They want computers and robots–they think I’m IBM!
Flying through the air … dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I’m quitting this job there’s just no enjoyment
I’ll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment.
There’s no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I’m going SOUTH for the season.
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