77 lines
3.3 KiB
Plaintext
77 lines
3.3 KiB
Plaintext
|
From unknown@ucscb.UCSC.EDU Fri Dec 15 23:00:17 1989
|
|||
|
|
From: unknown@ucscb.UCSC.EDU (The Unknown User)
|
|||
|
|
Subject: A Visit from Saint Woz
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
Since it's that time of year, it seems this is something worthy of
|
|||
|
|
a repost. As a small note to the alt.folklore.computers readers: This
|
|||
|
|
doesn't seem to fit the folklore subject matter but does seem to be in the
|
|||
|
|
same vein of some other song parodies which have gone over well on that
|
|||
|
|
newsgroup. This is probably my last call before next year (next DECADE even!).
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
A VISIT FROM SAINT WOZ
|
|||
|
|
by Marty Knight
|
|||
|
|
(Reprinted with permission of the Author)
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
'Twas the night before Christmas, sounds all through the house,
|
|||
|
|
the printer a'buzzing; the clicking of mouse.
|
|||
|
|
The floppies were stored in their cases with care
|
|||
|
|
in hopes that St. Wozniak soon would be there.
|
|||
|
|
The children were nestled, all snug in their beds,
|
|||
|
|
while TransWarp GS's danced in their heads.
|
|||
|
|
I need 3 megs more, but RAM costs a mint.
|
|||
|
|
I'm nodding off, waiting for my printer to print.
|
|||
|
|
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
|
|||
|
|
I woke with a start, "Now what's the matter?"
|
|||
|
|
Awakened from slumber I jumped up to see,
|
|||
|
|
tripped over the dog and fell on my knee.
|
|||
|
|
The moon shining onto the new fallen snow
|
|||
|
|
formed a non-standard pallette with objects below.
|
|||
|
|
When what to my poor bloodshot eyes should appear
|
|||
|
|
but SHR graphics! Stereo sound do I hear!
|
|||
|
|
With a sixteen bit chip and new bug-free GSOS,
|
|||
|
|
I knew right away that it must be Saint Woz.
|
|||
|
|
More rapid than Transwarp, his menus they came.
|
|||
|
|
He clicked and he dragged and he called them by name.
|
|||
|
|
"Now Pulldowns, now Buttons, now Dialogs, too.
|
|||
|
|
On Finder, Mac Interface, we're faster than Mac II!
|
|||
|
|
Blue slips for marketing! DTS better not scoff!
|
|||
|
|
ProDOS format for Technotes or I'll lay you all off!
|
|||
|
|
You know lame excuses make customers sad;
|
|||
|
|
well Macs in the schools make Applers mad."
|
|||
|
|
So up to the housetop his menus they flew
|
|||
|
|
with a sack full of RAM chips and Saint Wozniak, too.
|
|||
|
|
I listened intently with my two little ears
|
|||
|
|
to true stereo sound spreading holiday cheer.
|
|||
|
|
As I was scratching head and was turning around
|
|||
|
|
down the chimney Saint Wozniak came with a bound.
|
|||
|
|
He wore sneakers, a t-shirt, and blue jeans
|
|||
|
|
stained with some soda (I think it was cream).
|
|||
|
|
A bundle of chips he had slung on his back
|
|||
|
|
and he looked like a hacker there searching his pack.
|
|||
|
|
His eyes twinkled brightly, his dimples so merry,
|
|||
|
|
his cheeks like twin apples, his nose like a cherry.
|
|||
|
|
His droll little mouth smiled a smile O so grand,
|
|||
|
|
a full bearded chin, AppleLink in his hand.
|
|||
|
|
A thick slice of pizza he held tight with his teeth
|
|||
|
|
while the steam from it circled his head like a wreath.
|
|||
|
|
A plump little face and a round little belly;
|
|||
|
|
he laughed and it shook like a bowl full of jelly.
|
|||
|
|
He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf.
|
|||
|
|
I laughed when I saw him - he resembled myself.
|
|||
|
|
He winked his left eye and he twisted his head,
|
|||
|
|
so I knew deep inside I had nothing to dread.
|
|||
|
|
He said not a word, just went right to work.
|
|||
|
|
He soldered and programmed, then turned with a jerk.
|
|||
|
|
Then placing his finger on top of that mess,
|
|||
|
|
and giving a nod - POOF! fast GS!
|
|||
|
|
He leaped to his ship as it rose from the ground,
|
|||
|
|
up into the sky, and as he turned 'round
|
|||
|
|
I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
|
|||
|
|
"GS plusses for all, and to all a good night!"
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
--
|
|||
|
|
unknown@ucscb.ucsc.edu APPLE II FOREVER APL24VR GS tips? Mail me.
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|