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Ten thousand years of Roboshrub.

Fangs for the memories.




In today’s state, Roboshrub Incorporated is an entity entirely devoted
to the execution of what normal people would refer to as “bad ideas.”

It was the creator’s original idea that all concepts, whether
useful or not, contribute to the global subconscious level of progress
for the human race. Therefore, we contend that no idea is an unfit
idea, and vow to act on each and every one of them.

Roboshrub Inc.
Public Communications Department






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For your insolence, I condemn you to...

Suffer the Fate of a Thousand Bees!
(Before they go extinct)

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1.15.2006

Ballad of the Open Thread

There was once an Open Thread
who on the solar winds did tread,
who thought he could outrace the sun,
but then the Moon eclipsed his fun.

“The sun! The sun!” the Thread did cry,
and then with anger in his eyes,
he dared the foolish Moon to try
to take from him what he had wrought.
The Thread flew towards the moon with rage
to unleash what it sought to cage,
and through the smoke he bravely fought.

But fight the Moon? Could it be done?
Could the Thread regain the fun?

With his magic ice cream stick,
he fought the Moon. He bound it quick.
He cleaned it's clock, he stole it's soul,
he hit it with a parasol.

But then the Thread did come to see
the sunny fun he longed to free
was buried deep within the Moon,
trapped inside a lunar tomb.

Beside the pole, he sat and wept.
He didn't eat. He barely slept.

But at that time, out of the blue,
the Open Thread came face to face
with what can only be a case
of hyperbolic déjà vu.

Another Open Thread doth came,
flying in on wings of flame.
“Dear Thread,” the slick imposter purred,
“You've no idea the wrath incurred
by you against the Threads of Doom,
who get our fun out of the Moon.”

How could a Thread of any kind
have such an idiotic mind
to try to get fun from the Moon?
Explained within this ancient tune:
“Whosoever tries to take
from out the Moon the fun it makes,
shall know the Suffering of Leitin,
Master of the Art of Fightin'.”

“You fool!” the other Thread presumed.
“That ancient tune, it's text resumes!”

“But Leitin was a wise old man
who grasped the need to make a plan
to transfer from within his span
his power over fighting ham.

“He grabbed a Thread, an then the fun.
he took them both and from them spun
the greatest fun-Thread ever done.

“He took that fun-Thread to the Moon,
and then he wrote this ancient tune,
and thus began the Thread of Doom.”

So it would seem this strange pretender
was the Doom Threads' message sender.
A twist of fate with just one meaning-
this doom-Thread's clock was due a cleaning.

Grabbing fast his ice cream stick,
the Open Thread jumped up so quick
he hit the sender's glassy jaw,
who stood there with his gaping maw.

“How dare you dumb-Thread try to challenge
one of Leitin's greatest Threads!
I'll use my power over hammage
to make you fool-Thead meet your end!”

From out the doom-Thread ham of fire,
blazing with the glaze of honey,
came barreling toward the Open Thread,
its deadly nature oh so yummy.

To which the Open Thread replied,
again with fire in his eyes,
by throwing forth the ice cream stick,
devoid of ice cream, yes, but quick.

The Moon, the sun, where went the fun?
For when the Threads had ceased their duel,
they saw that life itself is cruel.
For where the sun and moon once sat,
there was Leitin, and surly at that.

“You Threads have failed my cosmic test.
You Threads are lines, I justly jest!
I spent ten years to find the best
but now I see you're like the rest!”

With shoes that shone as if with lightning,
off he ran, the Master of Fighting.
He left the Threads in disrepair,
glad they were finally out of his hair.

For years thereafter, across the sky,
the Open Thread and doom-Thread try
to find the fun that was their kin,
trapped forever on solar winds.

Labels:


Processing 13×100 Robo-Comments:

Blogger Gyrobo gesticulated...

I reposted this from my other blog because no one saw it when it was first writen on October 8.

1/15/2006 8:22 PM  
Blogger sabatkes gesticulated...

Must obey gyrobo.

p.s. I linked your blog on my blog. Thanks!

1/16/2006 12:31 AM  
Blogger flatlander gesticulated...

"Great minds think alike, but truly happy minds do away with thought all together."

Spo'gxxrnl, the Fiesty

I just posted a poem too. But I think yours is better, or at least...longer.

1/16/2006 1:08 AM  
Blogger BooTCaT gesticulated...

Hey , Mr Robo , if u want , i can show you ways you can , learn "BLENDER" .
Yeah , i can show you the fun part of blender , where in you could become a 3D expert .

So , if u r intrested ( still !) juz leave a comment at my blog . I am here to HELP .

1/16/2006 9:04 AM  
Blogger L>T gesticulated...

Is there anything you cannot do, oh talented one?

1/16/2006 12:18 PM  
Blogger Calzone gesticulated...

I saw it, I read it every night before I masturbate weakly into my hand and cry into my pillow.

Fuck

1/16/2006 6:49 PM  
Blogger Gyrobo gesticulated...

Poetry is easy when you don't follow any conventions of logic or consistency.

1/16/2006 8:39 PM  
Blogger L>T gesticulated...

You mean you just ramble onz???

1/16/2006 10:26 PM  
Blogger Bhakti gesticulated...

'Locked up in my little cage,
Where Percocet is all the rage.
Can't go outside,
Can't drive my car.
Can't type too long,
Or I'll be sore.
'Locked up in my little cage,
Praying to my little Sage--
"O Gyrobo is there nothing you can do
To ease the pain of 'you know who'?
I can't go on like this,
My little metal friend,
I think I'm approaching the bitter end.
The nerve pain slashed a hole in my skin
Where my left upper-arm used to have been (?)
Locked up in my little cage,
On so many drugs, in such a haze--
Oh hell, I'll last another couple 'whiles,
to make my bloggin buddies smile.
The end I foresaw 'tis not near,
There's too much I want to get done this year.
Like reading War and Peace,
And Harry Potter 5,
And eating chocolate kisses
that have been frozen in time.
Locked up in my little cage
Where Percocet is all the rage.
It's plain to see,
O can't you tell?
My poetry prowess has gone to hell.
O what the *&@#*&%@!
Who gives a sh%#?
I tried my best,
and this is it.
If my best ain't good enough for you,
Then buy some Elmer's and sniff some glue.
I have the feeling you'll will oblige
When I ask you to let this horrible poetry slide
In one ear and out the other,
My little metal robotic brother.
I can't seem to end this horrible rant,
I think it's time to start a chant.
Om Namah Shivaya! I say--
O Hanuman, Sita-Ram, and Durge--
Fill me with your loving bliss
So I can end this awful...this!
This poem is certainly like a wrecked up train,
A perfect reflection of my wrecked up brain.
If ever you need to have bionicals injected,
Please make sure your brain is protected.
Mine, you can see, was left out in the open,
And that's why this poem sucks.

1/16/2006 11:23 PM  
Blogger BooTCaT gesticulated...

Hey Brother , thought i could help on some FLASH ,

so here are my gifts , which i feel are BEST on NET


Friends of ED


and Levitated


Hope they help ,
:)

1/17/2006 9:58 AM  
Blogger Gyrobo gesticulated...

Those sites are VERY helpful.

And great poem, Bhakti! I hope it doesn't mean that you've lost an arm. Also, I might not be coming out with any more major stories this week; I'm working on a top secret site upgrade that'll knock the proverbial socks off anyone who comes here.

It's gonna be BIG.

1/17/2006 10:45 AM  
Blogger L>T gesticulated...

OOOOH< can't wait!

1/17/2006 11:30 AM  
Blogger Bhakti gesticulated...

No NO!! I haven't lost an appendage! I merely think that part of my brain has been dissolved because of the meds I'm on to stop the burning nerve pain.

I have to wonder: would it be better to be dumb and feel no pain, or feel pain and be smart as hell?? I'm in a quandary for sure!
Glad you liked the poem.

1/17/2006 12:55 PM