greenspun.com : LUSENET : TimeBomb 2000 (Y2000) : One Thread

To hoard, or not to hoard, that is the question

Whether 'tis nobler of the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of scornful neighbors,

Or to take arm against a sea of DGIs

And by opposing convert them. To hoard, to stockpile---

No more than is prudent--and by our stockpile to say we end

The heartache and the thousand natural shock

That unprepared flesh be heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To hoard, to stockpile;

To buy on sale, perchance to eat. Ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of the sated, what dreams may come,

When we have shufffled off to a warm bed

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long supply line.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of Decker,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of disprized optimism, the food delivery's delay

The insolence of bank employees, and the spurns

That patient merit of the prepared GI takes,

When he himself might his own bread make

With home-ground wheat? Who would tomatoes bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary hoe.

But that the dread of something after rollover,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No computer returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to bureaucrats we do not trust?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of residences

Is covertly sicklied o'er with the pale cast of Aladdin lamps,

And electric companies of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the power in thy neighborhood---Soft you now,

The fair Kosky, Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all thou sins remembered.

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 05, 1999


Go Git!

-- FLAME AWAY (BLehman202@aol.com), November 05, 1999.

OG! Well done, a topic worthy of The Bard's iambic pentametric attentions.

"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this moral coil,
Must give us pause. There's he respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear he whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, he proud man's contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,...
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;"

-- Donna (moment@pacbell.net), November 05, 1999.

My keyboard's dropping the letter "t" it seems...mangling Hamlet...sacrilege!

-- Donna (moment@pacbell.net), November 05, 1999.

And AAAAAAMMEEEEENNN!!!! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

Truly a TB2000 classic to be sure.


-- INVAR (gundark@sw.net), November 05, 1999.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way...

How the Dickens did he know about Y2K?? It's so very appropriate.

-- kritter (kritter@adelphia.net), November 05, 1999.

Old Git, I've loved all of your posts, your prep forum contributions, but this truly doth exceed them all! You are multi-gifted, and must be thanked for your gift of laughter here as well as all the rest you've done.

-- Elaine Seavey (Gods1sheep@aol.com), November 05, 1999.


-- karla (karlacalif@aol.com), November 05, 1999.

Thanks, ya'll. I was going to do "Shall I compare thee to a freekin' moron?" but it just didn't lend itself.

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 05, 1999.


-- Uncle Deedah (unkeed@yahoo.com), November 05, 1999.

I discarded "How do I scorn thee? Let me count my beans" in favor of the following (very little was changed):

Parodied from Richard III

On combating pollies:

What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?

Remember whom you are to cope withal;

A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,

A scum of low-life, and base lackey peasants,

Whom their o'er-cloyed forum vomits forth

To desperate ventures and assured destruction.

You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;

You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,

They would restrain the one, disdain the other.

And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,

Long kept in Debunky at everyone's cost?

A milk-sop, one that never in his life

Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?

Let's whip these stragglers back to Debunky again;

Lash hence these overweening rags of pollies ; These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;

Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,

For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves:

If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,

And not these bastard Debunkers; whom our fathers

Have in their own time beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd similar,

And in record, left them the heirs of shame.

Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives?

Ravish our daughters?

[Drum afar off]

Hark! I hear their screams of outrage!

Fight, gentlefolk of Yourdon fight, bold yeopersons!

Write, Yourdonites, write your posts to inspire!

Spur your proud heritage hard, and write as in blood;

Amaze the welkin with your magic words!

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 05, 1999.

After seeing algores campain ad on tv, I needed sorely some words of truth and wisdom.


-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), November 05, 1999.

Old Git, are these your own original parodies?

-- Randolph (dinosaur@williams-net.com), November 05, 1999.

Hooray! Sounds of hands clapping!!! Whistling!!! Stomping feet!!! You're terrific Old Git! I have always enjoyed your posts - and have benefited from your (probably) hard-won knowledge. Don't you "nevermind" Decker's slanderous and hateful posts - everyone that counts really loves you!!

-- jeanne (jeanne@hurry.now), November 05, 1999.

We sing a song of Y2K,

While people sleep the time away;

And never is the warning heard;

To heed it would be thought absurd.

But we are wary, cognizant,

Of hard times coming to our land;

While scoffers mock with seething rant,

We have prepared to make our stand.

Although the future is unknown

Because our knowledge has its bounds,

The fools who don't prepare have sown

Their soon demise in misty grounds.

-- Randolph (dinosaur@williams-net.com), November 05, 1999.

Aw, shucks, y'all quit now. (See, I speak American like a native!)

Look, here';s a great bit of Shakespeare and it didn't even need any alteration:

Brutus, from Julius Caesar

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

Is this a great thread or what? Hope it's got you searching for more apt material.

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 05, 1999.

OG,....I'll try my hand at MacBeth, "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,..." What do you think?

-- Donna (moment@pacbell.net), November 06, 1999.

O, mean you The Scottish Play, Mistress Donna? Yes, that play's the thing!

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 06, 1999.


Old Git, I'm sorry for causing you any consternation. I'm glad the *offending* word was supplanted with your *established* nomenclature.

BTW, did you like my poem? I tossed it off the top of my head after reading your parody.


-- Randolph (dinosaur@williams-net.com), November 06, 1999.

This one from Macbeth, OG:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 4.

Perhaps a stand-alone, eh? Good for any season of human endeavor past and in the Post-Post Modern,...All our bickering and wrangling, tales told by idiots, full of sound and fury, and at the end of the day, signifying nothing. Ah, pay me not too much mind. I've just done 14 hours out of 22 with woefully misparented teens. Colors the perspective a tad. She in the sheet, upon the hilltop,...

-- Donna (moment@pacbell.net), November 06, 1999.


"Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!"

Yes, that was really good stuff--more? You too, Donna, that's one of my favorites! What about the rest of you, you layabouts! Let's have some culcha here!

I got out my Complete Works of WS to look up some more stuff but I got so engrossed in Henry and Hotspur that I haven't parodied anything else. Sweetie and I visited the Percy's old home, Warkworth Castle (c. 1100), which was supplanted by the still-occupied new pile (c. 1300). Um, we spent most of our honeymoon at old castles and museums.

There's a lot to learn from those old fortresses. They were entirely self-sufficient for a start. And I remember clearly the stone staircase going up to the main keep parallel to the wall, rather then at right angles, because such placement made it impossible to use a battering ram. Warkworth, like all castles of the period, had its own brewery and granary. Sensible people!

Now back to Wm. The quality of Del Monte is not strained. . .

-- Old Git (anon@spamproblems.com), November 06, 1999.

Old Git, I don't know you - but I love you ;-)

-- tobeornottobe (karlacalif@aol.com), November 06, 1999.


-- gary (thehargi@earthlink.com), November 06, 1999.

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