An Ode to Fridays
Why won't you come sooner
Freedom?
No. Friday.
Why won't you come sooner
Freedom?
No. Friday.
Rb, we like you
Mostly for all the things you do
You make us happy when we feel like poo
we really do like you
At times you can be flimsy and frail
Like that time nev rolled all the dice and you had to bail
There the time dowaito did something with your keywords, and you went home and decided to wail
Boy, you are so flimsy and frail
There are times you are easily abused
Like the time photonut messed with everyone's karma, didn't you feel so used?
"Actually, that happens every week. . . " the author mused
You almost deserve to be abused
Rb, we really do like you, although our amusement is fading
Your value is waning
And your feature request list still waiting
Hopefully you're never put on the group's list of hating
Six syllables has the line below.
Nine syllables above.
Long snaky tendrils weaving together.
Covered in a thick red sauce not unlike blood.
Meaty chunks throughout.
Messy, and can ruin a shirt.
Alas, I wish this was food.
Morning. No fresh coffee.
*SCREAM*
Microwave, rescuing me in my despair.
Now I can last, till the fresh java is brewed.
Packets. No forwarding.
DNS. No resolving.
HTTP. No serving.
The router has crashed.
Bad poetry this is;
stoic, muted greys.
Post your bad poetry here, squawked the squirrel
duck!
tape?
