(no subject)
THE H4XX0R
There was a h4xx0r in computers learn’d,
But in his fashion I was quite concerned:
Each day he wore the same red vest-
His jeans, you see, he gave no rest.
He was a man of presence and of smell,
And to all accusation he would yell,
“Abide the stench, and ph33r my l33t skillz, or,”
He cackled, “I will h4xx0r your b0xx0r!”
In trepidation our laptops we’d clutch,
To protect them from viruses and such.
For sooth, the h4xx0r was king of his kind;
He pwned us at ev’ry game we could find.
He raped us harshly at Starcraft, the swine;
His Diablo char’s were all ninety-nine.
I challenged him once to a l33t-speak duel,
But his treatment of me was most cruel:
O, fool that I was, I cried, “Do your worst!”
Proceeded he then my capillaries to burst
With strenuous strings, numbers and symbols
which bashed my bleeding brains about like cymbals!
Although I must admit, so truth be told,
The h4xx0r without his comp turned quickly cold.
He was shaped for his chair: short, wide, and square,
And in the social world, he went nowhere.
Outside his box, he was a wimp without life;
He was, in short, a man who’d never get a wife.
He came with us to test his h4xx0r skill,
But man, we’re done if stinky shirts can kill.
There was a h4xx0r in computers learn’d,
But in his fashion I was quite concerned:
Each day he wore the same red vest-
His jeans, you see, he gave no rest.
He was a man of presence and of smell,
And to all accusation he would yell,
“Abide the stench, and ph33r my l33t skillz, or,”
He cackled, “I will h4xx0r your b0xx0r!”
In trepidation our laptops we’d clutch,
To protect them from viruses and such.
For sooth, the h4xx0r was king of his kind;
He pwned us at ev’ry game we could find.
He raped us harshly at Starcraft, the swine;
His Diablo char’s were all ninety-nine.
I challenged him once to a l33t-speak duel,
But his treatment of me was most cruel:
O, fool that I was, I cried, “Do your worst!”
Proceeded he then my capillaries to burst
With strenuous strings, numbers and symbols
which bashed my bleeding brains about like cymbals!
Although I must admit, so truth be told,
The h4xx0r without his comp turned quickly cold.
He was shaped for his chair: short, wide, and square,
And in the social world, he went nowhere.
Outside his box, he was a wimp without life;
He was, in short, a man who’d never get a wife.
He came with us to test his h4xx0r skill,
But man, we’re done if stinky shirts can kill.