Part 7 of 12
   
                    His repertoire ranged from classics to jazz,
                            
                    He achieved new effects with bubbles of gas.
                            With a good dose of salts
                            He could whistle a waltz
                            
                    Or swing it in razzamatazz.
                            

There was a young miss from Johore 
               Who'd lie on a mat on the floor; 
                    In a manner uncanny 
                    She'd wobble her fanny, 
               And drain your nuts dry to the core. 

               There once was a Bactrian camel 
               Who was bound by no fetter or trammel. 
                    When he tried to make hay 
                    In his Bactrian way, 
               His wife said, "Make me; I'm a mammal." 

Write in C  --  by Beatles
----------
When I find my code in tons of trouble,
Friends and colleagues come to me,
Speaking words of wisdom:
"Write in C."

As the deadline fast approaches,
And bugs are all that I can see,
Somewhere, someone whispers:
"Write in C."

Write in C, Write in C,
Write in C, oh, Write in C.
LOGO's dead and buried,
Write in C.

I used to write a lot of FORTRAN,
For science it worked flawlessly.
Try using it for graphics!
Write in C.

If you've just spent nearly 30 hours,
Debugging some assembly,
Soon you will be glad to
Write in C.

Write in C, Write in C,
Write in C, yeah, Write in C.
BASIC's not the answer.
Write in C.

Write in C, Write in C
Write in C, oh, Write in C.
Pascal won't quite cut it.
Write in C.

Ode to Spam

                                      by Charlie Johnston



                              Oh SPAM!  Oh SPAM!  Gourmet delight!
                               My food by day, my dreams by night.
                              To carve, to slice, to dice you up -
                           pureed in a blender and sipped from a cup.

                              What shining deity from Olympus knelt
                              down to the earth and hog butt smelt?
                               Creating then man's eternal desire
                              for swine entrails congealed by fire.

                             On some corporate farm, a pig has died.
                              Eyes, tongue, and snout end up inside
                               that cube of SPAM hidden in the can
                                I now hold in my trembling hand.

                               More than mere food, SPAM is for me
                           a hedonistic expression of gluttonous glee.
                         Mottled with pork fat, the pink cube engrosses.
                          My mouth takes it in, my intestine disposes.

                           Long have my arteries clogged to the sound
                          of sizzling SPAM when there's no one around -
                             furtively chewing or swallowing whole.
                            Triple bypass by forty, my medical goal.

                      Other processed meat products I've tried or declined
                        Vienna Sausages, Treet, even pig's feet in brine.
                           Though each may be tasty in different ways,
                             none matches SPAM for gelatinous glaze.

                               That glistening pinkness beckons me
                                   with gristle, fat, and BHT.
                            Oh Spam, my Spam - the taste, the smell -
                              The sacred meat product from Hormel.