Today's poems [9.8.10]
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DR. SUESS ON PCS
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 you 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 risk,
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.
Copyright © Gene Ziegler
Mary had a little sheep,
And with this sheep
She went to sleep.
The sheep turned out
To be a ram
And Mary had a little lamb!
There once was an old man of Esser,
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all,
And now he's a college professor.
When Lady Penelope swoons,
Her tits pop out like balloons.
Parker stands by,
With a gleam in his eye,
And pops them back in with warm spoons.
SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS PORNOGRAPHY
We've socially conscious biography,
Esthetics, and social geography.
Today every field
Boasts its Marxian yield,
So now there's class-conscious pornography.
Oh, the worker is nobody's fool,
For by rights he's the man with the tool.
His ponderous prick'll
Arise with the sickle,
And bugger the Fascists who rule.
Miss de Vaughan was a maker of panties
For all girls from subdebs to grand-aunties.
Her very best ad
Was herself, lightly clad
In her three-ninety-five silken scanties.
So this wench is a capitalist,
She's our villain and ought to be hissed.
But she's lush and she's plump,
And a glimpse of her rump
Would teach Marx that there's something he's missed.
Now de Vaughan had resolved on a lock-out
To give Communist Labor the knock-out.
She said, 'Fuck the foul fools.'
(She'd attended good schools),
And took a fresh bottle of Hock out.
Joseph Smith was a sturdy longshoreman
(And an eminent amateur whoreman).
Just to be sympathetic
He grew peripatetic,
'Til his picketing irked de Vaughan's doorman.
For this lout was a scab born and bred,
Who fainted whene'er he saw red:
In distress he reported,
But she only retorted,
`Run home and hide under your bed.'
For her plans were peculiar and wicked,
As she thought, `He's a man, if a picket.'
She lured him inside
And insidiously plied
The prick of the picket to lick it.
Joe's rod was stiff as a rail,
But he couldn't let principles fail.
`You degenerate bitch,
That's a trick of the rich;
But the people prefer honest tail.
`You may tickle the cocks and the vanities
Of the rich men who purchase your scanities,
But the proud People's front
Calls for sound hairy cunt.
So it's down with de Vaughan's panty-wanities.'
He picked a soft couch in her office,
And tore off her pants and ripped off his.
Then he showed her the rod
Marks the difference, by God,
Between what a man and a toff is.
Now our Joe was the first proletarian
Who had filled with his sperm the ovarian
Recess of de Vaughan,
Which had sheltered the spawn
Of unnumbered Fascists, all Aryan.
Next day his friends said, `You've been soaring,
You're dead on your feet. Were you whoring?'
He replied, `Starving masses
Mean more than plump asses.
Last night from within I was boring.'
And de Vaughan thought her troubles were over,
Her picket had left (to recover),
But he'd furnished her womb
With incipient bloom:
A fact she had yet to discover.
So after nine months, to the day,
The employer in labor pains lay.
As the boy hove in sight
He yelled, `WORKERS UNITE!'
And the doctors all fainted away.
The moral of this is, my child,
By rich promises don't be beguiled.
Remember that workers
Are eminent firkers,
And go left, if you must be defiled.
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