In memorium rexius magnus et mindless prattle

Now entertain conjecture of a time
When all the Web is as it were a dung hill
Bestrewn with Googles, viruses and pop-ups,
Hung round with Napsters, trolls and unclad grannies,
So that the colour flees from out your cheek
Until it seem most like a patch of snow
Which happens to be suffering from syphilis
And also thickly drench’d with powder’d talcum,
Cocaine, chalk dust, marshmallows shredded, dandruff
And myriad other substances partaking
Of that same hue to which inconstant mortals
Have in their petty prating paltritude
Affixed the name of ‘White’!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sorry, where was I?
Ah yes – bethink you that on this same Web
(O how unlike the glistening silver threads
With which the homely spider – never mind)
There stands a forum, solitary, lone,
In isolation splendid, sole, discrete,
Unvisited by wing or other parts
Of bird, shut out like Satan, on its tod;
Conceive you that it stands for subtle grace,
For speculations idle, for the right
To roll up all of learning and of wit
Into one ball, and then play squash with it;
And thrust into your mind, if so you will,
The image of its restless cyber-quill
Inditing with a kind of squeaking hiss
Such sub-Shakespearean yammerings as this!
For such a forum would you not do battle?
If so, then know its name is MINDLESS PRATTLE.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Exit, pursued by a Greenspun.

-- Rex (r✧✧@waitr✧✧✧.c✧✧), August 04, 2003.