So he thinks. At least we'll have good poetry to read while thinking of a name.. I found another one from a while ago:
Ravin
-------
Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of computer lore,
As I nodded, nearly snoring, suddenly there came a roaring,
As of someone gently boring, boring through tape number four.
"'Tis the octal load," I muttered, "reading cards into the core --
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I'm recalling all about the sound appalling
And my skin began a-crawling as I heard that sound once more.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow
>From my booze surcease of sorrow--sorrow that I had this chore--
Working on this vile computer which the codes all deplore,
Nameless here forevermore.
Then the flutter, sad, unsteady, of the light that flashed, "Not Ready"
Thrilled me--filled me--with fantastic terrors never felt before;
And to still my heart's quick pounding, fiercely I began expounding
"'Tis the octal load resounding as it reads cards into core,
Just the octal load resounding as it reads cards into core,
It is this, and nothing more.
Presently my soul grew sicker, for the lights began to flicker,
And I thought I heard a snicker from behind the tape drive door.
Hereupon discarding my vanity, hopeing but to save my sanity,
Uttered I some choice profanity of the rugged days of yore,
For the grim machine was looping! I, to display console, tore--
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that blank scope staring, long I stood there, cursing,swearing,
Sobbing, screaming screams no mortal ever dared to scream before;
But the looping was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the wispered word (CENSORED),
This I wispered, and an echo murmured back the word (CENSORED),
Merely this, and nothing more,
Back then toward the printer speeding, all my soul within me bleeding,
Soon again I heard the roaring, somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "as sure as heck, something's wrong with my octal deck,
Let me see then, let me check, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore--
'Tis the cards, and nothing more!"
Open here I flung a listing, with the noisy roar persisting,
Out there fluttered two control cards, cards I had forgot before;
Not the least deferment made I, not a moment stopped or stayed I,
Launching on a foul tirade, I started up the beast once more.
But, the monster, after reading both cards into the core,
Blinked, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this foul machine beguiling my sad fancy to reviling.
Turned I back toward the printer, answer then I did implore;
"Though my nerves are all a-splinter, thou," I said, "art sure no stinter,
Ghastly, grim and ancient printer, printer of computer lore.
Tell me what the trouble here is, for I surely need no more!"
Quoth the printer, "Nevermore!"
Much I marveled this contraption should give birth to such a caption,
Though it answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For it's sure that vile invective would deter the best detective,
Render such a one defective, stupid as a sophomore.
Why should such a steel invention as the printer on the floor,
Say such a word as "Nevermore?"
But the printer, sitting lonely on the concrete floor, spoke only
That one word as if by saying that one word it jinxed a score;
Nothing further then was written, and it purred on like a kitten,
'Till I stood there, conscience-smitten, "Other woes were fixed before--
On the morrow 'twill be ended, as my woes have flown before."
Quoth the printer, "Nevermore!"
Then methought the air grew smoggy, presently my head grew groggy,
Gripped by madness, then I spoke, my voice containing thirst for gore,
"Beast!" I cried, "Let Satan take thee! Let the devil roast and bake thee!
After, get the fiends who make thee! Let them sizzle four by four!
Let them sizzle, boil, and sputter! Let them fry forevermore!"
Quoth the printer, "Nevermore!"
"Monster!" said I,"Thing of evil! Black invention of the devil!
By the Hell that fries below us, by the Fiend we both abhor!
Tell this soul with sorrow shackled, the meaning of the word you cackled.
What's this job that I have tackled, never mind the metaphor!
Tell me just wherein I've failed, by signal, sign, or semaphore!"
Quoth the printer, "Nevermore!"
"Stop repeating words inanely, ghastly fiend," I shrieked insanely.
"May the gods come and destroy thee, and my shattered nerves restore."
While I stood my curse invoking, suddenly I started choking,
For the printer started smoking, and I started for the door.
"I'll win yet, machine infernal!" This I said and this I swore.
Quoth the printer, "Nevermore!"
And the monster, always whooping, still is looping, still is looping,
In the self-same program looping, that elusive part the core.
And its lights have all the seeming of a demon that is scheming,
And the coders all blaspheming throw their programs on the floor--
And my soul from out those programs that lie scattered on the floor,
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
---
The scary part is, I remember well the days of octal. :Q There's a thought.. "Octal Load"
Okay, that's enough out of me..