March 19, 2001, 2:30 PM —
Twas the night before deadline when all of us groused,
Not a server was stirring, not even the mouse;
'Cause Windows was hung with a bright blue screen glare,
In need of a service pack that wasn't there.
My vision was blurring, my face turning red,
While visions of sledgehammers danced in my head.
I put down the manual, gave it a slap.
I just can't believe that we paid for this crap.
Then out of my trance I arose with a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to be done with the matter.
Away to the garbage I ran like a flash,
And dropped Windows disks in the festering trash.
The goon who created this product did show
That his knowledge of software had come from below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an OS that's free and it's free as in beer.
With its modular drivers so stable and quick,
I knew in a moment that Linux was slick.
More vapid than DOS was the manager's claim!
But I whistled and shouted and called and exclaimed;
"No Crashes! No Errors! No Fussin' and Fixin'!
No problems as stupid as DLL mixin'!"
So I bounced off the porch and I bounced off the wall.
No crash today, crash today, crash today! Haw!!
Thanks to Samba the OS could run on the sly
Then the manager called me and said to stop by.
So up to the manager's office I flew,
With a fist full of disks and a manual, too.
Just when I was thinking I'd give him my proof,
He gave me some news in a manner aloof.
As I drew back the disks and was turning around,
My hope for the future came tumbling down.
He was dressed in all gray, from his head to his foot,
And the points in his hair o'er his ears stood a foot;
A budget immense he had put on a stack,
And he looked like a glutton done eating a snack.
His eyes, how they squinted! His pimples, how scary!
His breath was like Marlboros, his sneer made me wary.
His droll little brain was strung tight like a bow,