waltie@sri-unix (08/31/82)
Background:
Long ago, when I was in another department of a giant company,
I had the opportunity to watch a writer in that department as he
struggled through the beginnings of 'healthful excercise'.
The sport he chose was racketball, which, as we all know, is second
only to nuclear war with regard to danger and risk of personal injury.
(Go ahead, flame - I love it! teklabs!tekid!waltie )
His subsequent wounding and degradation needed only to be capped with
an epic poem, which follows.
pome:
Writer
Oh writer, oh writer,
what's happened to your foot?
Were you mangled by a roving band of thugs?
" Twas nothing!", he did say,
as they carried him away,
o'er the stairs and o'er the dripping, bloody rugs.
Oh writer, oh writer,
is the throbbing too intense,
as you drag your useless leg
along the ground?
"It is nothing!", he did moan,
his poor leg, a broken bone,
as his throat doth give a quiet mournful sound.
Ho writer, oh writer,
did you tangle with a lion?
Did his jaws, upon your leg,
doth wrap around?
"Mostly nothing!" he exclaimed,
gritting teeth against the pain,
like a broken, battered, car run over, hound.
Yes, writer, oh writer,
what's that cast upon your leg?
Did you tangle with a rabid grizzly bear??
"Twas nothing!" he professed,
yes, his hair was slightly messed,
and I hoped, his fateful tale, he'd surely share.
"It was late, the month - December,
"yes, I truly do remember,
"though it lies a mite bit hazy in my brain."
"Yes, it is, I surely see,
"just what fate had planned for me,
"And I'll try hard to relate it through the pain."
"It was deep within the fort,
"he and I were on the court,
"his dark eyes were piercing far into my mind."
"He unleashed a mighty serve,
"crackling air did make it swerve
"as I powered it back with vengence of my kind!"
"It was soon, so plain to see,
"it was either him or me,
"my lithe body dripping sweat, with muscles tense."
"My poor eyes, the sweat was foggin',
"then he beaned me on the noggin'!"
"I soon found my body up against the fence!"
"Yes, I'd rally to the cause,
"wrapped my wrists in snowy gauze,
"gripped my racket with a mighty iron grip."
"Then I lunged deep into battle,
"all my joints began to rattle -
"It was then I felt my body start to trip."
So, it was no grizzly bear,
poor Chet's skin, to rip and tear,
and there was no band of thugs to rend his cloth.
It was just ol' clunky Chet,
who, to walk, has not learned yet,
just as shakey as a woosie three-toed-sloth.
end, pome.