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A Visit from a Silicon ImpostorA few weeks before Christmas,One Nine Ninety-Four, The whole world was stirring with outrage galore. The shockings related to gross lack of care Whether all had the margin of error to spare. Small companies nestled all snug in their pride That their vision of equal respect had applied. And papa with the trackball (I, saving my wrist) Had just settled our brains for a game-maybe Myst. When out on the net, in the press, such a clatter And chatter arose! Here is what was the matter: Away to the window I flew to find out What Tom Nicely's discovery was all about. Those ads on the TV and ads in the mags Gave the luster of payday to all of their brags When what to my wondering eye it appears That the floating point error "news" is in arrears. The error is bad. The arrears part is sick, So I knew in a moment it wasn't Saint Nick! More rapid than eagles, supporters they came. And he whistled and shouted and called them by name. On PB, on Gateway, on Tandy and Acer, On Compaq, on Cupid, on Dell and Fujitsu To the top of the boards to the top of The Wall Now stash away, stash away, stash away all! As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly When they meet with an obstacle reach to the sky So up to the analysts his coarsers flew. It remains to be seen what they further will do. And then in a moment I heard in the snow The prancing and pawing of each CEO. As I drew in my head and was turning around Down the chimney this chipmaker came with a bound. He was dressed all in gold from his head to his foot, Reputation all tarnished with greedy pursuit He had a broad grin like an open ellipse And a confident stance poised to shoot from both hips With a wink of an eye and a shake of his head He tried vainly to say I had nothing to dread. With arrogant zeal he went straight to his work To fill the stock holdings, then rose, (what a jerk) And laying a finger aside of his nose As much as to say, "You don't count." Then he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle And away they all flew like the cone of a missile. But I'm here to exclaim, if Intel is inside, Happy Christmas to you, Just don't try to divide!
Verbing weirds language. silencio@netcom.com
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