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The Neon News

March 1, 2004

Hey Fanz!

Undead Celtic hippies rise just once a year! Well, not this year, though. Sorry, no VampIrish gig this year on St. Paddy's Day. It seems we're "too big and not expensive enough." Rumour has it, though, that you might spot a few kilted zombies on March 17 at the Ferret and Firkin pub (just south of the corner of Bloor and Spadina), and at the Cloak and Dagger, wherever that is.

No need to be bodhran-deprived, though - Gordon's Acoustic Living Room debuts Sunday evening March 7, 2004, at 9:00 p.m.

Not Gordon's actual living room, but an incredible simulation!

The Free Times Café

Wow! A regular gig! And at The Free Times Café, 320 College Street.
Good food, good music and good company!

Why so late? There's poetry on before us! Ooooh, that's classy!

Bagpipe-averse? Come to fragrant Barrie, Ontario, to Rooster's Pub on Saturday, March 20, and catch some fumes with the Wee Stinky Band. Whatever you do, don't inhale!

Wayne Neon

Gordon's Acoustic Living Room

Music for all, for all times - and unplugged!

Come and join us at

The Free Times Café

320 College Street

Sunday, March 7th

9:00 p.m. - 11:00 p.m.

No cover, no minimum!

Celtic Eclectic Dyspeptic Didactic Dialectic

Wee Stinky Poster 040320

Abort, Retry, Ignore?
by Anonymous Works

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets.
Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer,
I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go.
What demonic nether world us wrought where lost data will be stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there's C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more,
You will be one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore,
Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

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