Saturday, June 21, 2008

iChat on the iMac

No Chat or Losers Lament

 

A cyber sent signal sang signing offline. 

He'd stopped what twas writing and gone out to dine. 

Before I could tell him I had no time to chat. 

He had turned off the 'puter and fled like a rat. 

When I see him I’ll squeeze him, I'll Smee’s him, I’ll sneeze him with cheeses,

Cause I can’t cater a snorting, snot-snake son who signs on and off as he pleases

 

Didn't know the orbit he’d sent,

Couldn't ‘pect the shape he’d bent

'Till that cad, not that gent,

Turned off the 'puter and went

He had interrupted my brilliant thought.

My mind had fried. I was overwrought.

He had stopped me from thinking.

He’d started me drinking.

 

Drink taught me thus to philosophate,

Chatters online therefore to contemplate:

If every talk message brings cause to ruminate

Chatter- interruptus will bring life to ruinate.

Because the losers in life are really quite sad,

Everything they do turns from worse to real bad.

The mail in their box is nothing but junk.

When the project's 'most finished the computer goes clunk.

But the worst loser of all, I've heard it's been said

Sends a chat message to buddies that have fled.

 

 

 

Decided, then, to forget that dork.

Forget chat.  Get back to work.

Stop my drinking

And restart my thinking.

 

Had just put on my wisdom-washed wonder-filled face,

When all of a sudden out of the blue cyber space

Came a nanosecond zap zipping through that cyber zone.

In a mamosecond zac that throttled the thinking tone.

He on his Mac, me, on mine

We talked smack, online

My son’s iMac, so fine.

My iMac, quick time.

We had TV in space, face to face.

We could see each other in cyber space.

We could do some info sharing,

Some bond-like father-son caring,

Some picture looking and family talking,

We could even watch each of us walking.

An amazing thing is this cyber chat,

But don’t interrupt me you silly rat.

 

Dear friends ‘tis a moral to this story.

And all know there’s a path to every glory.

No matter then the chipper chatters that shatters my mind

When he crudely, lewdly, rudely signs on and offline

I’ll lose page and verse; I’ll give chapter and book

Just to capture time, to have a chat, to take a cyber look.