The Great Geek Manual

3 Comments

1. Nicki said

   am January 30 2007 @ 4:47 pm

   Oh no! Links point to:

   “Network Solutions
   This Site Is Under Construction and Coming Soon.
   This Domain Is Registered with Network Solutions”

   

   Oh well, thanks for the reminder!

2. Dog training said

   am November 27 2007 @ 8:43 am

   Very interesting… as always! Cheers from -Switzerland-.

3. miss_next said

   am January 29 2008 @ 4:21 pm

   Found this via ubergeeks on LJ. Here’s my own parody of it, which I wrote for a very dear friend (megamole on LJ) who is also being affectionately parodied here… hence the language, which I wouldn’t normally use.

   The Penguin

   Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
   On that ghastly second series where we simply couldn’t score -
   While I nodded, vaguely thinking, suddenly there came a clinking
   As of someone calmly drinking, drinking on the lower floor.
   “‘Tis the central heating,” thought I, “clinking underneath the floor -
   Only this and nothing more.”

   Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
   Though the match was in September, still I felt distinctly sore.
   Eagerly I wished the morrow, for I had a yen to borrow
   That new book on Henry Thoreau from my friend in Bangalore -
   For he said he’d pass through Cambridge going back to Bangalore -
   This I wished for, nothing more.

   And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
   Was now growing disconcertingly much harder to ignore;
   As my brain it did encumber, I had lost all hope of slumber,
   But I had a goodly number of beer bottles in my store -
   And some good red wine and very fine French brandy in my store -
   All of which I quite adore.

   At this thought my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
   Off in search of something stronger than the tea I drank before,
   In anticipation splendid I got out of bed, and then did
   Up my bathrobe and descended for a beer or three or four -
   For I thought I’d sleep much better if I had, say, three or four -
   Only that, and nothing more.

   Deep into the darkness peering (burnt-out bulb my pitch was queering),
   Something seemed to be adhering to my slipper on the floor;
   But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
   And the only word there spoken was when suddenly I swore -
   For I stubbed my toe most painfully, and so of course I swore -
   Merely this and nothing more.

   Then towards the kitchen turning – still my toe with pain was burning,
   And I felt a sudden yearning for a pie, with chips galore;
   Though my mood was fairly breezy, all at once I felt quite queasy,
   And at that I was uneasy till I realised, at the door -
   Yes, the reason was quite clear as I approached the kitchen door -
   ‘Twas the wind, and nothing more.

   And as I began to mutter, “Maybe just some bread and butter,”
   Words I simply could not utter rose within me by the score:
   For the light’s illumination showed a scene of devastation,
   And the jubilant gyration of a penguin on the floor -
   Bloody penguin who’d been drinking my French brandy on the floor -
   And the beer and wine, what’s more!

   Though he thought he looked beguiling, I most surely wasn’t smiling;
   I at once began reviling him in language far from pure.
   “How the devil did you get in? Bugger off, you feathered cretin!
   I won’t have some gormless pet intruding on my liquor store,
   So begone, or none shall guess the dreadful fate that lies in store!”
   Quoth the penguin, “Nevermore.”

   Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
   As he tottered round insanely like a skiff that’s lost an oar;
   Yet it hardly seemed to matter that in English he could chatter
   When I felt I’d like to batter him to even up the score -
   I would put that bird in hospital to even up the score -
   Then he’d bug me nevermore.

   But the penguin, growing weary, seemed to look up with a query,
   And his eyes were crossed and bleary as he lurched around the floor;
   So, my anger partly mastered, I said, “Look, you little bastard,
   If you weren’t so bloody plastered I would boot you out the door -
   I would pick you up and boot you like a football through the door.”
   Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

   Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
   “Doubtless,” said I, “that’s a token of remorse you’ve used before;
   But if you’re an alcoholic, then the problem’s metabolic,
   And you may repeat your frolic when your noddle’s not so sore -
   For you’ve had so much to drink I’m sure your head is very sore -
   Hence ‘Never – nevermore’.”

   Almost then he was beguiling my outraged soul into smiling,
   For he waddled round the tiling like a sailor come to shore;
   Then, against a cupboard sinking, much the worse for all his drinking,
   Both of fish and brandy stinking, gently he began to snore -
   And the syllables he murmured as he slid into the snore
   Once again were “Nevermore”.

   I shall leave the reader guessing just what thoughts I was expressing
   As I noticed he’d been messing up my Palestrina score;
   But the sun would soon be shining, and the creature was reclining
   There in slumber by my dining table, nowhere near the door -
   And I knew I couldn’t wake him up to put him out the door -
   And, that night, he’d drink no more.

   Then, methought, since sleep had fled me, to the study I would head me;
   I could not go back to bed – mistake that would have been, for sure.
   I confess that I was haunted still by vengeful thoughts unwanted,
   So decided, nothing daunted, that I’d play Rome: Total War -
   Yes, I’d work out all my feelings as my hoplites went to war -
   For I could do nothing more.

   Profit made I from my labours (hope I didn’t wake the neighbours);
   I had cavalry with sabres, and of towns they took a score.
   It was splendidly exciting, but at last I tired of fighting;
   As the early sky was lighting I went down again to pour
   Just a simple glass of fruit juice, which was all that I could pour,
   Since my liquor was no more.

   Profit, said I? How ironic! For the loss, I fear, was chronic,
   Like a mighty storm cyclonic that damned bird had wrecked my store;
   Yet, although I’d left him snoozing in the aftermath of boozing,
   What was really quite confusing was his absence from the floor -
   There was nothing but a feather and some guano on the floor -
   Only that, and nothing more.

   “Let that be our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I muttered, starting
   On the cleaning, my eyes darting round the room for clues it bore;
   But apart from bottles broken, I could find no other token
   Of the penguin who had spoken ere I dealt him out what-for -
   And I must confess, I still desired to give that bird what-for,
   Though he’d hiccupped, “Nevermore.”

   And this tipsy bird unfitting may be sitting, may be shitting,
   Once again the bottle hitting upon someone else’s floor;
   But I’ll give him no temptation in my current situation,
   For there’s now a combination lock upon my liquor store -
   And a mortise on the window, and a deadlock on the door -
   And he’ll rob me nevermore!

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