For the forgetful, twelvemonth was the Millennium Bug. What was questionable to be the businessperson for success the concern instead was a shaper of riches for those who were clever. The organisation guys immobile the difficulty before it could scarce intend started. So the fault overturned discover to be a wimp.
Many books were cursive describing how to endure the bug. I wrote digit myself. But by Sept I knew the fault was every but eliminated. I gave the remaining copies of my aggregation to the folks in my church. The anxiousness was ease on with them, so they gobbled them up same pancakes at the metropolis Day breakfast.
At the instance I wrote the mass poem. I devote it to Y2K, The Millennium Bug:
Futuristic by President Jones
(Friday, Apr 9, 1999)
Look ahead!
Look ahead!
Be Futuristic.
The assemblage was 2044,
If not that,
The assemblage before.
I vonged to Osher
On the cape,
Spent the season there,
Looking for a Antarctic bear.
One was seen in 2024,
None after
And whatever before.
But digit staleness exist,
Though older and white.
One Antarctic bear
Had to be every right.
I took my Flecscan
From its case.
I patch my eyes
Around the place.
All was white
Except the sky.
But a Antarctic bear
I did not spy.
I place my stool
Upon the ice,
Opened my meal tote,
And ate quite well.
But then I thought
I saw a flash.
I did, the sun
Had prefabricated a splash
On something on the hills away.
I said, I crapper attain it
In meet digit day.
For after all,
The life are long.
The gelid winters
Do prolong.
I jumped in my Scouten
And pushed the button.
It upraised itself
Into the air.
I said, Forward.
It sped from there.
I zipped along,
Taking in the sights.
Some ice,
Some snow,
Not such else.
Then we came
To ocean's shore,
Shot up the coast
To more explore.
There it is!
Stop! You blamed machine.
Let's wager what is
That experience thing.
I hopped out
Onto the snow.
The twine was whistling,
I looked below.
Here it is,
A crapper is here.
Once it held
Eight ounces of beer.
Now this a rattling elating clue.
Another assume hunter,
Must be here too.
I flashed my IF
All around.
It flickered
And pointed
To the ground.
I kicked around
The icy earth
And institute a board
Which I Unearthed.
I picked,
I dug,
I scrapped
And drilled.
Soon The board
From the connector I peeled.
I raised the commission
Peered into the dark.
Out jumped a Antarctic bear,
The grumpy sort.
He said,
What are you doing here?
Don't conceive
You're
Getting
Any
Of
My
Beer!
Another voice
From in the deep,
Who is it Henry,
Another creep?
That Wants your beer.
I'm trusty that's true.
Let's take him up and
Share with our cubs too.
I shook,
I shivered,
I was worried some.
I'm hunting For beer,
That's ground I've come.
You see,
We don't hit beer
During the Millennium.
He tangled at me.
I did run!
The End
by Evangelist T. Jones, Ph.D.
copyrightJohn T. Jones, Ph.D. 1999-2005
John T. Jones, Ph.D. (tjbooks@hotmail.com)is a old R&D organise and VP of a Fortune 500 company. He is communicator of officer & Hesperian novels, piece (business, scientific, engineering), poetry, etc. Former application of planetary change magazine. solon info: http://www.tjbooks.com. Business scheme site: http://www.bookfindhelp.com (wealth-success books / flagpoles)
