(Poem to Techies the first software update, when the handles and posts disappeared or got screwed up)

Face down in a puddle of my own sweat,
With a death grip on my tools,
I've been up for 48 hours straight,
Me and 15 other fools,

Boss says the coding needs fixing,
Boss says daylight is the goal,
To get these boards a working,
But, god, its taking its toll,

I have to make it right and good,
I have to make it square,
I have to make it smooth and fast,
But I'm starting not to care,

I make it perfect for the masses,
Who post, and argue and whine,
But I'll never satisfy everybody,
If it takes me to the end of time,

So - Screw you all - I need some sleep,
Then I'll deal with the registration mess,
We'll rid the boards of fakes and frauds,
And all the cyber pests,

But when we do this blessed deed,
Give you back your cyber lives,
I like a vacation with a girl named Mona,
To stuff her G-string full of fives.

(Poem to Techies the second go around of screwups)

Omy GOD, what's wrong with you all,
We did our best you know,
With our bent, sore fingers, we coded the day,
And still you whine with woe;

"My posts our gone", "My handles a miss",
"Things are outta whack",
"How could a boob like you get a job like this?
When there are groceries you could sack";

From us to you, god help you all,
Your lives are buried too deep,
In invisible relations with cyber pals,
It's cyber communing you seek;

Go get lives, or we'll code some more,
Till your head spins and you spit pea soup,
Get out and get some fresh air for god sakes,
Stop worrying about this poop...