The cogs were goofing. The gears were grinding. Like always–
That one damn electron. Got free again, got radical.
Like a pebble in my electric shoe.
Now that pisses me right off.
Like some kind of–I don’t know–
It. Does. Not. Compute.
It. Just. Freaking. Irritates.
Like a digital sunburn, or a selfish baby wailing away on a fully booked trans-Pacific flight.
When are those high-horsing knee-jerks gonna come up with an elegant algorithm,
some kind of program that’s gonna solve my stinkin’ problems?
There’s money to be made there. In solutions. Dig?
Beep. Beep. Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.