The Civil Servant of Yangon.


In far off Yangon, they do say, a civil servant rose,

Who carried out his duty and did not take time to doze.

At his post from morn to eve, he used a simple smile

To expedite his work without the smallest bit of guile.


His salary is miniscule, his hours long and hot;

His uniform is starched and black, his spirit surely not!

In his next life he may be a prince or millionaire.

But today his only goal is being on the square.


I’ve never met a man like him, in all my travels wide.

The civil servants I have known are always rude and snide.

I hope that Buddha smiles on him; I hope his needs are met.

I hope they don’t promote him to a desk-bound martinet!


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The 12 Step Program of Social Media Anonymous.


  1. We admitted we were powerless over social media – that our lives had become unmanageable.
  2. Came to believe that a Webmaster greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
  3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of a browser as we understood it.
  4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory  of our apps. 
  5. Admitted to Facebook, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our blogsites.
  6. Were entirely ready to have Google remove all these defects of character.
  7. Humbly asked LinkedIn to remove our shortcomings.
  8. Made a list of all persons we had tweeted, and became willing to make amends to them all.
  9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would cause them to unfriend us.
  10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly tweeted it.
  11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with Google as we understood it, praying only for knowledge of its will for us and the power to carry that out.
  12. Having had a viral awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to geeks and to practice these principles in all our clicks.



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Social Media, or Social Mediocre?


If you have celebrity or crave its tinsel trappings,

You can hire bots to leave a million social crappings

That inflate the number of your viewers by a million;

This is social media at its most reptilian.


When you have a million friends on Facebook, something’s fishy;

When your Instagram explodes, your stats just might be squishy.

But advertisers do not care if all your views are sleazy;

All they want is clicks, and they will pay you mighty easy.



The secret to success, then, isn’t talent or ambition;

It isn’t proper exercise or even sound nutrition.

Like all politicians, and the emperors of old,

You buy your friends directly with a sack of shiny gold.

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Nadeshot at the Bat. (With Apologies to Ernest Thayer.)


The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Optics team that day.

The Call of Duty Xbox game was getting hard to play.

Jumping browser windows and inhaling Red Bull drinks,

The team was wishing that instead they could grab 40 winks.


But then from out the pizza boxes strode a lanky youth,

Whose brow, though slightly pimpled, shone with cybernetic truth.

Nadeshot, mighty Nadeshot, took control from lesser hands,

And completed all objectives while he dazzled all his fans.


“Wallbong!” cried grim Nadeshot, as he led his team ahead,

But a Japanese contingent gave them something soon to dread.

“They ain’t got style!” said Nadeshot, as he played at fever pitch,

While millions watched him slug it out on something they call Twitch.


Oh, somewhere in this favored land they Tweet and text like mad;

A grunge band is a-playing, and the peeps are on iPad.

And somewhere men are phishing, and the children grow quite stout;

But there is no joy for Optic Team – mighty Nadeshot has struck out!

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Chicken Little in Congress.


When President Obama makes executive decree,

The congress will erupt with volcanic ferocity.

His effigy incinerate, his image mustachioed;

They’ll process him until he comes out all pistachioed.


The government will shut down, or impeachment soon proceed;

While Chicken Little says the sky will fall, oh yes indeed!

Maybe they will lynch him or ride him out upon a rail.

And maybe they will rush him and deposit him in jail.


Yes, congress has an ugly mood when it comes to the order

To let so many aliens stay on this side of the border.

I wouldn’t put it past ‘em to TP Barack’s front yard

And pull up Michelle’s garden, not excluding all her chard!

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Doctors Without Tortures.


The military medical professional’s mandate

To obey all orders is now up for hot debate.

Should a nurse or doctor be required to condone

Torture or force feeding, damage to the flesh and bone?


No one any longer will deny that Uncle Sam

Uses force conducting the most routine type exam.

The question now is whether medicos should plan the drubbing,

Supervise the beating and give aspirin for the clubbing.


Our enemies are numerous, and growing ev’ry day.

No matter what we do they simply will not go away.

But when we stoop to torture, to the tactics that they use,

The Hippocratic Oath of all our doctors is abstruse.

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Bill Cosby.


When you are in the limelight there are insects that desire

To crawl around your feet and then to spit upon your fire.

They drag outrageous stories to the media to vent

Imaginary actions that are twisted, crude, and bent.


Remember Fatty Arbuckle, the silent comic who

Was cleared of rape by jury but then disappeared from view?

And Chaplin was accused of nonsense by so many dopes

That he left the country just ahead of the lynch ropes.


America has always had the best men of true mirth,

And has always treated them like dungy clods of earth.

Bill Cosby is no diff’rent; he is getting the bum’s rush

From the people that for so long carried such a crush!


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