An old programmer told me before he died,
That his core memory was strung so wide,
His algorithms could not be satisfied.
So he built a machine, a computing machine.
Amazingly fast, dynamic memory to glean,
The answers to problems never before seen.
Round and round went the calculations,
Floating point and theoretical relations,
Without a pulley or other machinations.
“Compare “A” to “B” and register 5 to 3,
Oh holy computer you are not fooling me,”
Thus spoke the old programmer, in his ego and glee.
“IF this equals that, THEN divide by four,
ELSE multiply by 2, then set ceiling and floor,
For parametric limits, nothing less, nothing more.”
“When you are through show the answer only to me,
And divide by zero, for self destruction, don’t you see?
That I, as high priest, will be glorious and free.”
I alone will have answers to the programs that I write,
I will hide them to myself, resulting in power and might,
As an antisocial programmer it is my God given right.
Thus Spoke Fred