Ten Little Gigabytes
     
   
Ten little gigabytes, waiting on line
one caught a virus, then there were nine.

Nine little gigabytes, holding just the date,
someone jambed a write protect, then there were eight.

Eight little gigabytes, should have been eleven,
then they cut the budget, now there are seven.

Seven little gigabytes, involved in mathamatics
stored an even larger prime, now there are six.

Six little gigabytes, working like a hive,
one died of overwork, now there are five.

Five little gigabytes, trying to add more
plugged in the wrong lead, now there are four.

Four little gigabytes, failing frequently,
one used for spare parts, now there are three.

Three little gigabytes, have too much to do
service man on holiday, now there are two.

Two little gigabytes, badly over run,
took the work elsewhere, now just need one.

One little gigabyte, systems far too small
shut the whole thing down, now there's none at all.
  




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1 



                       Vendor's 12 Days of Christmas
     
   
On the 12th day of Christmas my vendor gave to me:

        12 days to set up
        11 acronyms
        10 more megahertz
        9 brand new standards
        8 more megs of RAM
        7 minor upgrades
        6 hidden features
        5 tons of docs
        4 new API's
        3 more months of waiting
        2 more SCSI drives

And a bug fix for Windows NT.

(c) 1993 The Bill Gates of Hell Society
  




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2 



                               Ode to Alcohol
     
   
                        Starkle, starkle, little twink,
                        Who the hell you are I think,
                        I'm not under what they call
                        The alcofluence of incohol.
                        I'm not drunk as thinkle peep,
                        I'm just a little slort of sheep.
                        Tee martoonis make a guy
                        Fool so feelish, don't know why
                        Rally don't know who's me yet
                        The drunker I stay the longer I get
                        So just one more to full my cup,
                        I've all day sober to Sunday up.
  




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3 



                            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.
  




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4 



                    The Ballad of the Bobbit Hillbillies
                                      
               (Sing to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies)
     
   
Here's a little story of a man named John
a poor ex-marine (with a little fraction gone).
It seems one night after gettin' with the wife.
She lopped of his schlong with the swipe of a knife.
        (Penis that is)
        (Rodeoed. Fillet-io-ed)

Well the next thing you know there's a Ginsu by his side,
and Lorena's in the car takin Willie for a ride.
She soon got tired of her purple-headed friend,
so she tossed him out the window as she rounded out a bend.
        (Curve that is)
        (Pricker shrubs, wheel hubs)

She went to the cops and confessed to the attack,
and they called out the hounds just to get his weenie back.
They sniffed and they barked, then they pointed "over there"
To John Wayne's Henry that was wavin' in the air.
        (Found that is)
        (By a fence, evidence)

Now peter and John couldn't stay apart too long,
So a dick-doc said "Hey! I can fix your dong."
"A needle and a thread's just the thing you're gonna need."
Then the world held it's breath 'till they heard that Johnny peed.
        (Wizzed that is)
        (Stitched seam, straight stream)

Well he healed and he hardened, and he took his case to court,
With a cock-eyed lawyer (since his assets came up short)
They cleared her of assault and acquitted him of rape,
And his pecker was the only one they didn't show on tape!
        (Video that is)
        (Unexposed, case closed)
  




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5