Saturday, July 03, 2004


I'll tell you the the story of my computer from Hell,
That was made down in Texas by a company named Dell.
Now I ain't claimin' I'm expert, I'm a'tellin' you true,
But you can jes' hang your hat on what I'm gonna tell you.
So jes' follow along and a good story I'll sure tell,
That has to do with this fella', be his name Michael Dell.

(I read that Michael hurt his'self ridin' his horse, so I sympathetically wrote him a Get-better (at riding?) poem.)


When a fellers bin a'straddle
Since he’s old e’nuff to ride,
And he larns to throw his saddle,
On most any colored hide,
Tho’ it’s nuthin’ to take pride in,
Most fellers I have know'd,
If they ever done much ridin’
Has at differ’nt times bin t’rowed.

So I guess it’s bound to rankle,
When yer t’rowed and break yer ankle,
Still yer can’t keep on a’moanin,
And jest a’gripin’ and a’groanin’
Don't jest sit there where you're sittin',
Michael, don't you be a'quittin’
Next time be sure yer do 'er right,
And jes'...cinch up yer saddle tight!

Yes, it's surely bound to rankle,
When yer horse steps on yer ankle!

(I did not compose the first verse; I've had it in a notebook for more than 50 years, so used it here to begin...)

Heironymous S. Anon-Y-Mous c.2004