A poem for the new year, written by former detroit-blogger rob, inspired by the engineer's life.
A slave ship for stupid
white people of course,
opposed to smart indians
in Delhi; job outsourced.
Engineers aren't queers
so rest your fears,
of them surfing at work
gay porn.
But i digress. on a side note and AS an engineer (engineer of machines, engineer of men, engineer of funk), this year I hope everyone can learn to see the beauty of functionality.
let's do a round up:
astro-tourists? no.
flying cars? maybe after i get the fiat running.
meals in a pill? nay.
peace on earth/goodwill towards folks? negative.
ultra-efficient fuel-sipping cars? only in a honda press-release.
looks like we haven't caught up to the future yet. but then again, my cell-phone has a 3D graphics card and simultaneously can radiate microwaves deeper into my skull than any before, so we must be doing something right.
4 comments:
good poem.
it's been a few years now... buddy, you gotta let it go. Just let it all go.
you have madison and unwed mothers now. see? when the cast system closes one door, alcohol and lose morals open a window through which you can scurry, and hopefully not leave you boots behind to be found by an angry ex-husband.
the circle of life is complete.
You are whity... even if you aren't whity... you are still whity to someone.
wait. i wrote that??
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