A host is a host from coast to coast
But no one will talk to a host that's close
Unless the host that isn't close
Is busy, hung, or dead. |
COMPUTER TALE
If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted as a very last resort,
and the access 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 to 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
'cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang!
When the copy of your floppy's getting sloppy
in the disk
and the macro code instructions cause unnecessary
risk,
then you'll have to flash the memory and you'll
want to RAM your ROM.
Quickly turn the sucker off and be sure
to tell your Mom!
|
|
Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.
Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew. |
|
|
|
The Philosophers' Drinking Song
(from Monty Python's Flying Circus)
-- Composer: Eric Idle, Author: Eric Idle
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away--
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And René Descartes was a drunken fart.
'I drink, therefore I am.'
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker,
But a bugger when he's pissed.
------
(And none have anything on Ayn Rand) |
