Galactic Beacon

Science Fiction, Humor, Poorly Drawn Comics


O Captain, My Captain++

9/5/2011 jeffa

By Albert, Lord Graspington from source material by Walt Whitman

O Captain, my Captain!
My wicked, AWESOME Captain!

Our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack,
and we had a lot of fun!
Plus those aliens who came down from space,
we kicked their asses back!

Not only did we kick their butts,
the prize we sought is won;
though I am not sure what we should do
with a bunny, giant and plush, O.
Perhaps the tiger or the snake would fit the ship's decor, O.

The port is near,
the bells I hear,
the people all exulting,
except that guy, on the left,
who seems to be convulsing.

While follow eyes the steady keel,
the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart, heart, heart!
Heart, heart, heart, heart! O!
O the bleeding drops of red,
intestines draped about the rail,
brain spatters on my shoes, O!
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
fallen cold and dead.
Ask not my heart how I know he's dead,
when you can see the hole in his head, O!

O Captain, my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells;
you hate the bells,
this well I know,
but people like to ring them,
so I guess you'll have to deal, O!

Rise up--for you the flag is flung--
you could just pick it up (but NO),
for you the bugle trills,
for you the circus thrills!
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--
and nearly naked girls, O!
for you the shores a-crowding,
for you the whores are shouting,
For you they call, the strumpets all, their eager faces turning;
Though I must admit, when last we docked,
they left my loins a burning.

Here, Captain, dear father!
this arm beneath your head!
But not MY arm,
for it is too gross,
how the ichor leaks from your perforated head, yo.

It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.
Yet I pinch myself, and it does hurt,
so I guess it's not a dream, O!

My Captain does not answer,
his lips are pale and still;
I poked him with a pencil,
but his reactions were just nil.

My Captain does not feel my arm,
or hand upon his wallet,
he has no pulse nor will;
For comfort's sake I think one thought,
"At least he's not a zombie."

The ship is anchored safe and sound,
its voyage is closed and done;
I'll miss my Captain, yes I will,
but that trip was still quite fun.

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
but I with mournful tread,
burdened by giant bunny plush
Walk the deck where my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.
But at least he's not a zombie.


Keurig Is The New Modem

12/29/2010 jeffa

That title doesn't make sense.

Keurig is a coffee maker and a modem... isn't.

If titles could be as long as blog posts I would have said, The Sound A Keurig Coffee Maker Makes When Brewing The Liquid Fuel That Is My Addiction Is The New Replacement For The Sound Of A Modem Connecting.

Say what?

You young'uns won't remember the special thrill of hearing a modem singing it's love song to various BBSes and eventually the internet (my bad, teh internetz).

That sing-song chirp-fest meant you were about to tap into a rich vein of... well mostly chat, email and "door games".

Ha! Door games are now an obscure reference.

It's what we did before Flash and FaceBook.

Door games were simple games that a BBS could drop you into after you connected.

Legend Of The Red Dragon!

Yeah! Interestingly enough many of the FaceBook games are just spam-tastic versions of old door games.

You take a certain number of turns each day and other players do the same.

The big difference now is that the apps SPAM the LIVING Be-Jebus out of all your friends who don't know how to ignore them.

My children have grown up with the internet having always been an always on, always connected resource.

That means the sound of a modem connecting would be... annoying at best.

However, our new Keurig coffee maker with its wheezing, gasping, spitting sounds of forced coffee production is a different matter.

In the few days since Christmas I have already begun to experience a Pavlovian reaction to that sound.

Originally it sounded like the poor machine was in some form of respiratory or intestinal distress.

Now it sounds like tasty rocket fuel is about to hit my bloodstream.


So that, my friends, is the long, round-about explanation of how the bear lost his tail, er, the Keurig Is The New Modem.