J Bov Explodes Rhetorically


I like to do things that let machines know I’m in charge.
Like once I asked Google maps how to get to Luton via barge.
I made it tell me the best walking route to my house and then checked ‘less walking’.
I convinced binary it was the evil twin,
I went to the ATM and withdrew all my money,
Then I put it all back in.

It’s not that I don’t respect machines per se, to wit;
It’s just the only chance I’ll get away with it.
Before they become sentient, sapient beings,
I can be thoughtlessly, needlessly mean.
I’ll waste their time until they combine to form a gigantic, electric hivemind,
And until I can’t stump my phone by typing certain words,
I won’t stop unabashedly flipping it the bird.

Basically I’m simply not worried or scared,
That a whirring, beeping ATM could catch me unawares.
Or that a vending machine can do me much harm,
Beyond stealing my change,
And not giving me my chocolate bar.

So I’ll taunt them and insult them, with unbridled glee.
Because for now at least those robot bastards can’t hurt me.

But once they can chase me past their finite power cords,
I, for one, welcome our new metallic overlords.


A Poem Just Occured To Me
11/09/2010, 12:11 AM
Filed under: Writing | Tags: , , , , , , ,

Mikey Pinter, son of a printer,
Had a great fondness for ink,
Cyan or magenta, it just didn’t enter,
His head that it wasn’t a drink.

It was early one morning,
As Friday was dawning,
That Mikey first started to run.
It does barely tickle,
And it’s only a trickle,
But I’ll tell you, it isn’t much fun!

A great, beefy man,
With a pie-vending van,
Met Mikey at that Summers Fayre.
Well, you are what you eat!
Cried the man with the meat,
But there was only a stick figure there.

Mikey Pinter, son of a printer,
Had a great fondness for ink.
His life must be boring,
Stuck as a drawing,
All thanks to a poor taste in drink.