Ode to the Bots

 

(apologies to Simon & Garfunkel) 

Hello spamo, my old friend
I’ve come to rub you out again
Because your numbers softly creeping
Sent your bots while I was sleeping
And the garbage that was planted on my blog
really clogs
Within the bounds of comments

In cyber space I walked alone
Virtual streets of big orange cones
‘Neath the halo of my desk lamp
I turned my eyes from the crap you stamp
When my site was stabbed by a flood of a teen delight
That piqued my spite
And breached the bounds of comments

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand spamo’s, maybe more
Hackers talking without speaking
Goobers hearing without listening
Losers sending links that bloggers never share
And who’ve declared
You can’t disturb the bounds of comments

“Pigs,” said I, “You do not know
Askimet will not let the cancer grow
Read my posts that I might teach you
Take the hint so I might reach you”
But my words, like silent cowpies fell
And echoed
In the wells of splogdom.

And the losers bowed and prayed
To the porno gods they made
And the filter flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, “The words of the slimeballs are written on the bathroom walls
And loser’s balls”
And cannot enter the bounds of comments.