-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Hatless Atlas" (stuck shift key poetry): ^<@<.@* hat less at less point at star }"_# | backbrace double base pound space bar -@$&/_% dash at cash and slash base rate !( @|=> wow open tab at bar is great ;`+$?^? semi backquote plus cash huh DEL ,#"~|)^G comma pound double tilde bar close BEL -- davez@ashtate.a-t.com (Dave Zobel) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- <>!*''# Waka waka bang splat tick tick hash ^@`$$- Caret at back-tick dollar dollar dash !*'$_ Bang splat tick dollar under-score %*<>#4 Percent splat waka waka Number-Four &)../ Ampersand right-paren dot dot slash |{~~SYSTEM HALTED Verical-bar curly-bracket tilde tilde CRASH -- Fred Bremmer & Steve Kroese (Calvin College & Seminary, Grand Rapids, MI) NOTE: "wahka" is the decidedly "proper" name for the characters ">" and "<". The Michigan crowd apparently has corrupted the spelling to "waka". -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- (12 + 144 + 20 + (3 * 4^1/2)) / 7) + (5 * 11) = 9^2 +0 A Dozen, a Gross and a Score, plus three times the square root of four, divided by seven, plus five times eleven, equals nine squared and not a bit more. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Last Bug "No program is perfect," They said with a shrug. The client is happy ... What's the one little bug? But he was determined. The others went home. He dug out the flowchart. Deserted. Alone. Night passed into morning. The room was cluttered. With memory dumps, microfiche; "I'm close," he muttered. Chain smoking, cold coffee, Logic deduction. "I've got it," he cried. Just change one more instruction. Then change two, then three more, As year followed year. And strangers would comment Is that guy still here? He died at the console of hunger and thirst. Next day he was buried, face down, nine edge first. And his wife through her tears Accepted his fate. Said, "He's not really gone, He's just working late. The last bug in sight, an ant passing by, Saluted his tombstone and whispered, "Nice try." -anon Datamation sometime 1968-1970 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- by Douglas Spencer Computer Systems Administrator, Anderman and Co Ltd A is for APPLE who sent us our Macs, D is for DEC, and they sold us a Vax. C is the language in which we write source, and B is our sort, which is BROKEN, of course. E is an ERROR when code is compiled, F is a FORK for creating a child, G is the GETTY that sits on the line, and H is a HANGUP whic:^?{^Zo^?{bD^]NO CARRIER I is the INTERCONNECTION of kit, J is the JOY when the cables all fit. K is for KERMIT, to copy a file, and L are the LINES that we drop all the while. M is the MODEM we use from our home, N are the NIGHTS which we spend on the 'phone, O is the OUTPUT we get from the host, and P are the 'PHONE BILLS we get in the post. Q for SIGQUIT makes our process abort, R is the REASON sigquit should be caught. S is the SIGNAL we catch and ignore, and T is the TRAP which we miss, and dump core. U is for UNIX -- I hope that is clear, V is the VISUAL editor here. W stands for the WINDOWS we use, and X for the windowing system we choose. Y is for YACC, quite a specialist tool, Z for the snores from the programming pool. Written while waiting while dinner was cooking -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- at the i/o window they stand and look, to ask for the answers they could get from a book. complex or moronic, they don't seem to care. they'll keep hounding you 'til you pull out your hair. "go ask consulting" you say with a smile, though your mind is on killing the scum all the while. "my printer ain't working, can you tell me what's wrong?" so you walk back and say "it can't work, it's not on." -- poem found in the 1986 logsheets, anonymous writer at U. Kansas (As a quick addition, i/o (Input/Output) is what our department (now Customer Assistance) used to be called; and Consulting is the customer service group above us.) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Jaberwocky satire: VIRUWORMY (with apologies to Charles Dodgson) For RTM who made it all possible. 'Twas eunicks* and the asky chars Did grepp and skanneff at the nik: All mimdy were the hyperstars, And the rad ravs outsmick. "Beware the Viruworm, my sun! Let not its bits, in temp space get! Guard well the Passpass word, and shun The durbious Internet!" He put his darpal code in ram: Long time the decson foe he sought -- So waited he, in the Dirdir tree And slept awhile, swapped out. And as with hashish dreams he slept The Viruworm -- that spawn from shell -- Fast fingring through the mayle, it crept And gettessed from Koornell! Ping, pong! Ping, pong! And long by long The darpal code went hicker-hack! It ran no more, and with its core He went dispiling back. "And hast thou killed the Viruworm? Nok bless your promms, my sparkish toy! O megga win! Ess are eye! Bee bee enn!" He broadcast in his joy. 'Twas eunicks and the asky chars Did grepp and skanneff at the nik: All mimdy were the hyperstars, And the rad ravs outsmick. -- ejc '90 *Eunicks is not a registered trademark of ATT Bell Laboratories. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- (My memory is failing; I've indicated places where some part of me says there _ought_ to be another verse with [...]) COMPUTERWOCKY 'Twas online, and the octal codes Did flip and flop among the PROM All flashing were the red diodes And the terminals were calm . . . Beware the error bug, my RUN Its tapes that stop, its READs that WRITE Beware the microprocessor, and shun The ever lasting Teletype He called his software to display Long time the fatal error roamed So video interfaced he stayed And resequenced as he probed [...] Debug! Debug! And NAND and NOR The programmer went DELETE! REFILE! The error bug was now no more And the program would compile! [...] 'Twas online, and the octal codes Did flip and flop among the PROM All flashing were the red diodes And the terminals were calm . . . -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ARPAWOCKY Twas brillig, and the Protocols Did USER-SERVER in the wabe. All mimsey was the FTP, And the RJE outgrabe, Beware the ARPANET, my son; The bits that byte, the heads that scratch; Beware the NCP, and shun the frumious system patch, He took his coding pad in hand; Long time the Echo-plex he sought. When his HOST-to-IMP began to limp he stood a while in thought, And while he stood, in uffish thought, The ARPANET, with IMPish bent, Sent packets through conditioned lines, And checked them as they went, One-two, one-two, and through and through The IMP-to-IMP went ACK and NACK, When the RFNM came, he said "I'm game", And sent the answer back, Then hast thou joined the ARPANET? Oh come to me, my bankrupt boy! Quick, call the NIC! Send RFCs! He chortled in his joy. Twas brillig, and the Protocols Did USER-SERVER in the wabe. All mimsey was the FTP, And the RJE outgrabe. D.L. COVILL May 1973 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Subject: Cyberwocky From: mhhammon@neumann.uwaterloo.ca (Mike ``Hammer'' Hammond) Date: Wed, 5 Mar 97 19:30:02 EST ********************************* * * * Cyberwocky * * * ********************************* (With Apologies to Lewis Carroll) 'Twas e-mail, and the ftp Did route and telnet to the node. All rlogin to Xterms free To let gopher download. ``Beware the Internet, my son! The posts that spam, the speech that's free! Beware the Netscape cache, and shun The AOL mail id!'' He took his HP mouse in hand. Long time a higher bandwidth sought -- And wished had he for his old PC A faster modem bought. And, as that wistful thought he gripped, The Internet, with bait of flame, Ran applets through the Javascript, And mailbombed as it came! The war he waged! As on each page The HP mouse he double-clicked! And 'twas absurd, the hype he'd heard 'Bout sites that he had picked. ``And, hast thou surfed the Internet? Come link my page, my newbie bud! O Lycos night! Yahoo! Excite!'' He messaged on his MUD. 'Twas e-mail, and the ftp Did route and telnet to the node. All rlogin to Xterms free To let gopher download. by Mike ``Hammerwocky'' Hammond (First appeared in Volume 71, Issue 4 of mathNEWS, the University of Waterloo Faculty of Mathematics student newsletter/humour publication. Check us out at http://www.undergrad.math.uwaterloo.ca/~mathnews Submitted with permission of authour --- me!) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- [Ric Hehner and Ken Sevcik administer the graduate program in our department. Derek Corneil is Dept. Chair. NSERC is Canada's NSF.] Have you ever wondered why graduate students stick around so long? Why they stand the long hours and sleepless nights? Why they don't simply take a decent-paying job somewhere? Here's a little insight into the thought processes of an n'th year grad contemplating giving up the good life of a student. The Tragedy of the Computer Science Graduate Student Year 'n'; checkpoint 'i'. To be a graduate student or not, that is the question: Whether 'tis easier in the mind to suffer The lines and arrows of outrageous graphs Or to take arms against C and Turing And by debugging end them. To quit: to sleep. No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural blocks That code is heir to: 'tis a permutation Devoutly to be wish'd. To quit: to sleep. To sleep? perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rubout; For in that sleep of life what jobs may come, When we have shuffled off this graduate soil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long a student life; For who would bear the Rics and Kens, Th' professor's wrongs, the committee's disinterest, The supervisor's delay, the pangs of rejected chapters, The spurns of NSERC that penniless does us make, And the insolence of shared offices, When he himself might his quietus make with a bare resignation? Who would grading bear, To grunt and sweat 'neath piles of exam papers, But that the dread of something after school, The undiscover'd 9-to-5 life from whose world No student returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others we know not of? Thus, customer support doth make cowards of us all, And thus, the native hue of high-resolution graphics, does bind us tightly to our program, with artificial visions of what may come; And so we spend another year, exploring research problems of great import. Soft you now; the Chair Corneilia doth remind us that in that future world of deadlines we shall have no time to consider Computer Science's most troubling vexation: P or NP, that is the question. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets; Having reached the bottom line, I took a floppy from the drawer. Typing with a steady hand, then invoked the SAVE command But I got a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore." Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion? These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before. Carefully, I weighed my options. These three seemed to be the top ones. Clearly I must now adopt one: Choose "Abort, Retry, Ignore." With my fingers pale and trembling, Slowly toward the keyboard bending, Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee Finally I pressed a key-- But on the screen what did I see? Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore." I tried to catch the chips off-guard-- I pressed again, but twice as hard. Luck was just not in the cards. I saw what I had seen before. Now I typed in desperation Trying random combinations Still there came the incantation: Choose: "Abort, Retry, Ignore." There I sat, distraught exhausted, by my own machine accosted Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor. And then I saw an awful sight: A bold and blinding flash of light-- A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core. I saw the screen collapse and die "Oh no--my data base," I cried I thought I heard a voice reply, "You'll see your data Nevermore!" To this day I do not know The place to which lost data goes I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored But as for productivity, well I fear that IT goes straight to hell And that's the tale I have to tell Your choice: "Abort, Retry, Ignore." -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- From "The Revised^3 Report on the Algorithmic Language Scheme" (9/1986 - MIT Artificial Intelligence Laboratory) ABSTRACT -------- Data and procedure and the values they amass, Higher-order functionss to combine and mix and match, Objects with their local state, the messages they pass, A propery, a package, the control point for a catch-- In the Lambda Order they are all first-class One Thing to name them all One Thing to define them, One Thing to place them in environments and bind them, In the Lambda Order they are all first-class. (With apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien) [For those not in the know, Scheme is the lisp variant used in beginning CS classes at several schools, including Berkeley, and I believe, MIT.] -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Nine megs for the secretaries fair, Seven megs for the hackers scarce, Five megs for the grads in smoky lairs, Three megs for system source; One disk to rule them all, One disk to bind them, One disk to hold the files And in the darkness grind 'em. Nine-track tapes and seven-track tapes And tapes without any tracks; Stretchy tapes and snarley tapes And tapes mixed up on the racks -- Take hold of the tape And pull off the strip, And then you'll be sure Your tape drive will skip. -- Uncle Colonel's Cursory Rhymes -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Threes, Rev 1.1 By Elms and L. Fish Deep in Engineering down where mortals seldom go, A manager and customer come looking for a show, They pass amused among us and they sign in on the log, They've come to see our pony, and they've come to see our dog. Three things you should be wary of: a new kid in his prime, a man with all the answers and code that runs first time Summoned from our cubicles to conference rooms we go. We bring our dog and pony cause we know they want a show. Watching as we enter with a shifty routine eye, The customer sits waiting in his pinstripe suit and tie. Three things never trust in thats; a vendors final bill, the promises your boss makes; and the customers good will. The pony kicks his heels up as the doggy does his trick, and hands are waved with vigor as we lay it on -- real thick. The customer just watches as we do this song and dance, Then reaches for his briefcase scarcely giving us a glance. Three things see no end; a loop with exit code gone wrong, a semaphore untested, and the verses of this song. From briefcase then there comes a list of things we must revise, All before within the room are taken by surprise. And all but four are thinking of their last job with remorse, the customer, the manager, the doggy and the horse. Three things hold no secret: files that somehow hit the net; your bosses secretary and the third thing -- I forget... First thirty-seven changes that somehow we must add in, Then twenty one new features show up much to our chagrin. And this thing's just inadequate, and that one's just plain wrong, and by the way, your schedule is about three month's too long. Three things it is better for that only you should know, how much you're paid, the schedule pad, and what is just for show. The customer proceeds to go through each change line by line, Excruciating detail that no logic can define. When it ends there's only four not sitting there aghaw; The customer, the manager, the pony and the dog Three things never anger; first the one who runs your DEC, the one who does your backups, and the one who signs your check. Now we here all are software types who spend ours days and nights, embedded in the system down among the bits and bytes, and none but us can tell full well the damage done today, it's for what they do not know for which they're gonna have to pay! Three things are most perilous; connectors that corrode, new unproven algorithms, and self-modifying code. The manager and customer are quick to leave our bunch, They take the dog and pony and they all go out for lunch, Now how will we revenge ourselves on those who raise our ire, writing self-destructive code that goes the day the warrenties expire -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- I have in my photo collection, a color transparency of a restored manuscript, on parchment, in a gothic book hand, with illuminated capitals, the following prayer: -O-ur Supervisor, Who art Omnicient hallowed be thy Task Thy Priority One Thy Will be Done In core as it is on file -G-ive us this day our daily task and forgive us our errors as we forget Thy syntax Lead us not into overflow but deliver us from crashes -F-or Thine is the syntax and the program and the structure for ever and ever Batchend I've tried to transcribe the indentation and indicate the illumination as well as possible, given that I'm typing this on my ADM 31 at home. There is no punctuation in the original (punctuation was poorly standardized in the era of the gothic book hand, and it was frequently left out of poetic works). I admit it, I made it up in a fit of frustration while waiting for something to run at the computer center at Carnegie Mellon, back in 1972 or 1973. Core was still king, and at the time, I was taking a course on compiler construction (from Sam Fuller, I think), and we were relegated to punched cards (despite the availability of TSS 360 on campus). Some time that spring, I illuminated it on parchment, then burnt the manuscript and restored it. I have since lost the original, and all that remains is the color slide. -- Doug Jones (jones@cs.uiowa.edu) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SYSTEMA NOSTER Our system, which art on tape, inviolable be thine instructions. Thy mnemonics come, thy macros be done, among engineers as it is among programmers. Give us this run our input and output, and forgive us our error returns as we forgive the operator. Lead us not into false transfers, and deliver us from machine errors, for thine is the control, the supervision, and the wisdom, forever endeavour. -- Charlie_Gibbs@mindlink.bc.ca -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- An IBM USER (A true story of Raw Courage & Human Endeavour) as chronicled by the Falkirk Bard An IBM user, Deciding to temp fate, Tried to use the Big Computer, To read his wee mag tape. He got the job assembled, Then sent it down the line. "I hope this thing is fast", he said, "I want it back in time." The IBM Computer Said with a shout of glee, "Ah-ha a brand new user, What fun we'll have I see." The 3081 returned the job, And the story it did tell, Was that it couldn't run the job, 'Cause of failure in J. C. L. After many weeks of trial, The user jumped for joy. "It likes my J. C. L. now. It loves me boy-oh-boy." But IBM's are playful things They like to have their fun, As the user searched his output, He saw what it had done. Its latest bit of humour Was plain for all to see, It went and killed his job off, With Abend code 413. The user got the book down, Turned to the proper place, And after careful searching found Of 413 - no trace. Said the user, "I am patient, I never lose the place, But if this doesn't work soon, I'll kick it in the face." He sent the job back in then, Without another sound, But the 3081 replied with, "System file not found." "What the hell does this mean?" Asked the user with a dirty look, "It's a standard flipping routine, It says so in the book." At the place of Foreign Language, He went to ask of them, But they replied, "We're sorry, We don't speak IBM." But this story has an ending, When many months later, The user got his tape read, By a baby Interdata! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Here's a rather amusing poem my father picked up at San Jose State University (original author unknown). Apologies to Dr. Seuss. Kyle Haight (khaight@borland.com) Pete Wilson & Dr. Seuss I will not sign a budget soon I will not sign a budget in June. I will not sign a budget now. I may not sign one anyhow. I will not close the budget gap. I do not have a budget map. Do not throw it in my lap. Blame it on a Democrat. I do not care how long it takes. I do not care what pain it makes. I do not mind the chaos now. I may not sign it anyhow. I could not would not have a plan. I would not could not sign their plan. I could not would not sign my plan. I would not could not Pete I am. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The lights are on-- 'cause you're at home. Your brain's wired to your phone. Alt.sex, and talk.bizarre, You his 'reply,' start a flamewar! You don't sleep, you drink Coke, You can't stop, you might choke. Know what, you crave the most? Talk.religion, with unread posts! You like to think you've figured out drieux! Oh yeah? A day without net access is a day with the blues, You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to News. Pirate clari, you've got it all. Local news, e'en from Nepal? 'End of newsgroups' is your key, To join *.advocacy! A fido gate's your latest fun, Mailing lists, every one. A one-track mind, you can't be pried, From your keyboard, until you've died! Just when you think you've figured out drieux! Oh, yeah! A day without net access is a day with the blues, You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to News. The lights are on, 'cause your at home. Your brain's wired to your phone. Alt.slack, talk.pol.misc, You've never felt a real live kiss! -- Elf Sternberg (elf@halcyon.com) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Speak roughly to your little VAX, and boot it when it crashes; It knows that one cannot relax Because the paging thrashes! Wow! Wow! Wow! I speak severely to my VAX, and boot it when it crashes; In spite of all my favorite hacks My jobs it always thrashes! Wow! Wow! Wow! -- Pete Zakel (phz@cadence.com or ..!uunet!cadence!phz) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Algorhyme I think that I shall never see a graph more lovely than a tree a graph whose crucial property is loop-free connectivity. A tree which must be sure to span so packets can reach every lan. first the root must be selected by ID it is elected. least cost paths to root are traced, and in the tree these paths are place. mesh is made by folks like me; bridges find a spanning tree. -- Radia Perlman -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The DEC Man Commeth This is dedicated to all those who called out DEC field service for a simple problem, and wished you hadn't.......... It was on a Monday morning The DEC man came to call, My system wouldn't boot There was no prompt at all He pulled out all my SPC's To try a new backplane And I had to get the hardware guys to put them back again Oh it all makes work for field service men to do! It was on a Tuesday morning The hardware man came round He soldered and he fiddled And he said 'Look what I've found' 'Your ECOs are years behind' 'But I'll put it all to rights' Then he shorted out the power supply and out went all the lights Oh it all makes work for field service men to do! It was on a Wednesday morning The power supply came 'It's newer and it's better' 'But it works just the same' He could not fit the unit without stripping half the rack then he dropped my boot HDA so He called Peripherals back Oh it all makes work for field service men to do! It was on a Thursday morning The HDA came along with a blocklist and a cable and a list of what goes wrong He put it into my drive It took no time at all But I had to get the software guys to come and re-install Oh it all makes work for field service men to do It was on a Friday morning That Software made a start With BACKUP and SYSGEN He configured every part Every track and every sector But I found when he was gone He had overwritten the boot track and I couldn't turn it on On saturday and Sunday They do no work at all So It was on a Monday morning that the DEC man came to call -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Jargontalk, by Larry Colen with apologies to Lewis Carroll Twas unix and the C++ Did compile and load upon the vax: All Ritchie was the Kernighan, And Lisp ran in GNU EMACS Beware the Jargontalk my son. The mac that talks, the dull PC Beware the Amiga, and shun the voluminous PDP He took his listed code in hand: Long time the pointer bug he sought- So rested he by the coke machine, and stood a while in thought. And as in nerdish thought he stood, the Jargontalk, with awk and grep, Came geeking through the Cobol wood, and edlin as it schlepped. One two! One two! and through and through the line printer went clickity clack! And with a meg of memory dump He pulled an allnight hack. And hast thou slain the Jargontalk? telnet to me, my nerdish boy! Copyleft Gnu! Callooh! Callay! He deroffed in his joy. Twas unix and the C++ Did compile and load upon the vax: All Ritchie was the Kernighan, And Lisp ran in GNU EMACS -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- From: benco@soda.berkeley.edu (Ben Cottrell) Newsgroups: alt.folklore.computers,comp.sys.apple2 Subject: Re: Request for parody of Wm Shakesp. Sonnet 130 ("My Apples screen is smaller..." Date: 17 May 1994 17:36:58 GMT In article <2rag1m$dli@meaddata.meaddata.com>, John Townsend wrote: >We just happen to have Scientific American online in Nexis. I found the >article, from the June 1989 issue, but unfortunately we don't have the >"illustration" online which contains the full text of the sonnet that was >generated. However, here's the main article if you're interested. Maybe >someone can now find a hardcopy of this issue and followup with the whole >sonnet: Here it is... SONNET CXXX-b My Apple's screen is nothing like the Sun; The Cray is faster far on problems big: If Apple pleasant be, th'Atari is more fun; If wires be hairs, her circuits are a wig: I have seen pixels dancing, red green blue, But no such pixels see I on her tube; And mainframes dance a logic far more true Than in my Apple's tiny crystal cube. I love to watch her print, yet well I know That line printers hasten with more speed; I grant I never saw a virtual process go, My Apple, when it works, does in small steps proceed; And yet, by heaven, I think my judgement sound As any computation she has found. Hope you enjoyed that... -- ____ -Ben, 14yo GCS -d+ p c++++ !l u++ e m++ s/+ !n(+) h+ f- g+ w+ t+ r- !y* \ / (Preferred address: benco@soda.berkeley.edu) \/ Some assembly required. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Subject: "A Seasonal Ode for the Computers Holidays" Date: Wednesday, December 14, 1994 8:32AM Priority: High 'Twas the night before crisis, and all through the house, Not a program was working, not even a browse. The programmers were wrung out, too mindless to care, Knowing chances of cutover hadn't a prayer. The users were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of inquiries danced in their heads. When out in the lobby there arose such a clatter, That I sprang from my tube to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a SUPER PROGRAMMER, oblivious to fear. More rapid than eagles, his programs they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name: On Update! On Add! On Inquiry! On Delete! On Batch Jobs! On Closing! On Functions Complete! His eyes were glazed over, his fingers were lean, From weekends and nights in front of the screen. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Turning specs into code, then he turned with a jerk. And laying his finger on the ENTER key, The system came up, and worked perfectly. The updates, updated; the deletes, they deleted; The inquiries, inquired; and the closing completed. He tested each whistle, he tested each bell, With nary an abend, and all had gone well. The system was finished, the tests were concluded, The client's last changes were even included! And the client exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt, "It's just what I asked for, but NOT what I want..." -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Twas the night before Star Trek forwarded from Wired Geek humor at its finest. Somebody has to sit around and think this one up... 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship Not a circuit was buzzing, not one microchip; The phasers were hung in the armoury securely, In hope that no alien would get up that early. The crewmen were nestled all snug in their bunks (Except for the few who were partying drunks); And Picard in his nightshirt, and Bev in her lace, Had just settled down for a neat face to face... When out in the hall there arose such a racket, That we leapt from our beds, pulling on pant and jacket. Away to the lifts we all shot like a gun, Leapt into the cars and yelled loudly "Deck One!" The bridge red-alert lights, which flashed through the din, Gave a lustre of Hades to objects within. When, what on the viewscreen, our eyes should behold, But a weird kind of sleigh, and some guy who looked old. But the glint in his eyes was so strange and askew, That we knew in a moment it had to be Q. His sleigh grew much larger as closer he came. Then he zapped on the bridge and addressed us by name: "It's Riker, It's Data, It's Worf and Jean-Luc! It's Geordi, And Wesley, the genetic fluke! To the top of the bridge, to the top of the hall! Now float away! Float away! Float away all!" As leaves in the autumn are whisked off the street, So the floor of the bridge came away from our feet, And up to the ceiling, our bodies they flew, As the captain called out, "What the Hell is this, Q?!" The prankster just laughed and expanded his grin, And, snapping his fingers, he vanished again. As we took in our plight, and were looking around, The spell was removed, and we crashed to the ground. Then Q, dressed in fur from his head to his toe, Appeared once again, to continue the show. "That's enough!" cried the captain, "You'll stop this at once!" And Riker said, "Worf, take aim at this dunce!" "I'm deeply offended, Jean-Luc" replied Q, "I just wanted to celebrate Christmas with you." As we scoffed at his words, he produced a large sack. He dumped out the contents and took a step back. "I've brought gifts," he said, "just to show I'm sincere. There's something delightful for everyone here." He sat on the floor, and dug into his pile, And handed out gifts with his most charming smile: "For Counsellor Troi, there's no need to explain. Here's Tylenol-Beta for all of your pain. For Worf I've some mints, as his breath's not too great, And for Geordi LaForge, an inflatable date." For Wesley, some hormones, and Clearasil-plus; For Data, a joke book, For Riker a truss. For Beverly Crusher, there's sleek lingerie, And for Jean-Luc, the thrill of just seeing her that way." And he sprang to his feet with that grin on his face And, clapping his hands, disappeared into space. But we heard him exclaim as he dwindled from sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!" -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- REMEMBER WHEN....... A COMPUTER WAS SOMETHING ON TV FROM A SCIENCE FICTION SHOW A WINDOW WAS SOMETHING YOU HATED TO CLEAN.... AND RAM WAS THE COUSIN OF A GOAT..... MEG WAS THE NAME OF MY GIRLFRIEND AND GIG WAS YOUR MIDDLE FINGER UPRIGHT NOW THEY ALL MEAN DIFFERENT THINGS AND THAT REALLY MEGA BYTES AN APPLICATION WAS FOR EMPLOYMENT A PROGRAM WAS A TV SHOW A CURSOR USED PROFANITY A KEYBOARD WAS A PIANO MEMORY WAS SOMETHING THAT YOU LOST WITH AGE A CD WAS A BANK ACCOUNT AND IF YOU HAD A 3 1/2" FLOPPY YOU HOPED NOBODY FOUND OUT COMPRESS WAS SOMETHING YOU DID TO THE GARBAGE NOT SOMETHING YOU DID TO A FILE AND IF YOU UNZIPPED ANYTHING IN PUBLIC YOU'D BE IN JAIL FOR A WHILE LOG ON WAS ADDING WOOD TO THE FIRE HARD DRIVE WAS A LONG TRIP ON THE ROAD A MOUSE PAD WAS WHERE A MOUSE LIVED AND A BACKUP HAPPENED TO YOUR COMMODE CUT YOU DID WITH A POCKET KNIFE PASTE YOU DID WITH GLUE A WEB WAS A SPIDER'S HOME AND A VIRUS WAS THE FLU I GUESS I'LL STICK TO MY PAD AND PAPER AND THE MEMORY IN MY HEAD I HEAR NOBODY'S BEEN KILLED IN A COMPUTER CRASH BUT WHEN IT HAPPENS THEY WISH THEY WERE DEAD -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 'Twas the night before 2000 and all through the tower, applications were failing, more by the hour. The programs were running on the mainframe with care, in hope that the millennium bug was not there. The programmers were seated in front of their PC's, while visions of blank paychecks danced in their heads. With Amy in her office and I at my desk, we had just settled down for a night with no rest. When up on my screen there arose such a ding, I sprang from my chair screaming .. "I didn't touch a thing!" Away from my computer I ran real quick, tore open the drawer and picked up a stick. I glared at the PC, evil and mean, then realized ... it's just a machine. What to my wondering eyes should I see, but a miniature window, and a message for me. With tired eyes, I gave a glance, only hours left .. we don't have a chance! More rapid than eagles the languages fell, and we whistled, and shouted, and called with a yell; "Now COBOL! now, NATURAL, Batch and On-Line! Oh, FORTRAN! Oh SAS! Now CHORE went flat-line! From the front of my face, to the face of the wall, now bash away! bash away! bash away all! As the team gathered together for one last try, the word from management came... "Fix it or die!" So they sat in their chairs, in the up-right position, with a desk full of work, and a nasty disposition! And then, in a dinging, I heard the speaker mention, "Attention, the building, Attention." As he tried to speak the next word, the crashing of the mainframe is all we heard. The programs were a mess, from start to end. My screen was tarnished with an ugly abend. The team assembled, into one huge pack, we looked like hungry wolves, ready to attack. Our eyes - how they twinkled! Our fingers typed with a clank. Fix Payroll we said, because our paychecks are blank! The sweat on my face was falling like rain, while the coding of COBOL drove me insane! The stump of a pencil I held tight in my hand, I chewed nervously, hoping I would not get canned! I coded some Windows and a Bridge too, that took a program from version one to two. I was tired, weak, and in a delusion state, and I laughed when I saw it, in spite of fate. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon let me know that bug was not dead! It spoke not a word, but went straight to work, crashing the remaining programs, then turned with a jerk. I placed the cursor next to the bug, pressed the delete key to remove the little thug. But I heard it exclaim, as I erased the line..... "Happy Millennium for now, 'cause I'll return in 9999!"