iPoema indigesto (velhinho mas em bom estado)
I ate my iPod Shuffle
No need to make a big kerfuffle.
But yes, I ate my iPod shuffle.
The websites warned me not to, sure.
But sometimes one must ask: Wherefore?
Its sleek design was so damn sweet,
It just looked good enough to eat.
So icy smooth, so creamy white,
It applesauced my appetite.
So bite-sized, so petite and cute,
Made by a company named for fruit,
Its product name based on a veggie
(Prefixed with “i” to make it edgy),
And even the site I bought it from
Said: smaller than a pack of gum.
Such was the power of suggestion
That all signs pointed to: ingestion.
I hungrily sat down to start
My iPod shuffle à la carte.
I shut off my Sad-Cube-Drone Mix,
Impaled the ’Pod on two toothpicks,
And faster than a Mac reboot,
I tossed it back like escargoot!
It really tasted quite fantastic
(Apple’s peeps use primo plastic),
Evincing a refined bouquet
Of silicon and Chardonnay.
(Nutritionally sound, I think,
With RDAs of iron and zinc.)
And plus my tunes were spread — sublime! —
With rich Nutella, and sweet Lime.
(Unlike the bad taste left in, say,
The mouths of the R.I.A.A.)
In all, quite pleasing on the palate.
If less so to my empty wallet.
But soon that meal of small machine
Began to make me feel non-keen.
My stomach first began to churn,
Thus redefining Rip-Mix-Burn;
I then broke out in sweats and chills,
Got #oh-eff-oh around the gills,
And then began hallucinatin’:
I worked in tech support for Satan!
He growled to me in tones satanic
I’d soon be dead of kernel panic,
And then would, for eternity,
Help sinners find the “Any” key.
These visions made me cower and quake,
Like something out of William Blake —
(Tiger! Tiger! burning bright,
Searching hard drives in Spotlight,
What immortal hand or eye
Improved thy fearful G.U.I.?)
— My point is, I was suffering from
As I began to fade to black
(My best impression of Sad Mac),
I saw within some colored blobs
The floating face of old Steve Jobs!
His voice resounded like a god:
How DARE you dare defile iPod!
You’re not supposed to eat that thing!
Just swallow all the MARKETING!
Yes, choke down all the Day-and-Chiat!
But cough that iPod up, you shiat!
The iPod shuffle’s not a snack!
Don’t make me go get Wozniak!
Then faster than a broadband pipe,
He vanished in a flash of hype.
I came to, after hours of resting,
The iPod shuffle still digesting.
It’s since become a part of me.
That’s why I write so randomly.
(What really makes my girlfriend swoon:
She prods me right, I change my tune!)
I never heeded Steve’s command.
In fact, I think I helped his brand —
The ergonomic single-serve
And random-ordered hot hors d’oeuvre:
Next time you need a snacky-treat,
Think different — iPod appetit.
(Scott David Herman @ Erasing.org)