Once upon a midnight dreary,

as I hunkered drunk and bleary

o'er my keyboard, you could hear me

all the way to your place, nearly,

swearing at at my monitore.

As I sat there, keyboard pounding,

suddenly a voice came sounding,

aggravated, loud resounding,

"What the Hell you still up for?"

Grammatom, her ire abounding,

peering in at my cell door.

It's one o'clock, you should be sleeping,

'stead of sitting down here keeping

me up, yelling at your bleeping

chatroom, and then finally creeping

into bed at half past four .

I cant take this any more!"

"Grammatom," I said with feeling,

"going to bed is most appealing

sitting here, my poor brain reeling,

raising curses to the ceiling,

throwing objects on the floor..."

"Sure I long to join you resting

in our warm bed, cuddling, nesting

in your arms and and gently testing

appetites of sweet amour.

Well do I remember, Honey,

how you found me sweet and funny,

how I used to earn us money,

ere I found the chatroom door.

(Damn that cursed chatroom door!)

Yet I know I must continue,

fighting, tooth and nail and sinew,

in this wretched chatroom venue...

this is all I now live for.

I must fight the evil Righty,

'stead of sleeping in my nightie.

Though I long to hold you tightly,

I must fight for Albert Gore,

Chat for noble Albert Gore!"

Then she broke my monitore.

Gramp

Ha. I love it.