The Robot's Base Haiku
Friday afternoons are rife with the whiff potential.
There I was, mostly minding my own business, when the strike of TGIF smashed into the office, leaving tatters of the chances of productivity. Deftly I clung to my earphones and cranked up the music in my work mix, as I quickly marked where I needed to get by the end of the day, before succumbing to the bold demands of Fridayness.
Then they came, en masse, to my cube. The tribute of nonproductivity was demanded.
Not wanting to completely lose the mindset, and being inspired earlier in the week by the Haiku Error Messages, I took the fertile ground of the self-docking robot on which I work, and scribed a few lines, with which I will leave you:
We have all your base.
You can't dock anywhere, they
are belong to us.
There I was, mostly minding my own business, when the strike of TGIF smashed into the office, leaving tatters of the chances of productivity. Deftly I clung to my earphones and cranked up the music in my work mix, as I quickly marked where I needed to get by the end of the day, before succumbing to the bold demands of Fridayness.
Then they came, en masse, to my cube. The tribute of nonproductivity was demanded.
Not wanting to completely lose the mindset, and being inspired earlier in the week by the Haiku Error Messages, I took the fertile ground of the self-docking robot on which I work, and scribed a few lines, with which I will leave you:
We have all your base.
You can't dock anywhere, they
are belong to us.
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