The End of the Raven

Poe Parodies THE END OF THE RAVEN By Edgar Allen Poe's cat from Henry Beard's 'Poetry For Cats'

On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting, I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for. Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven, Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door. "Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor, "There is nothing I like more" Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful as I headed Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of Pallas I deplore. While the bard and birdie chattered, I made sure that nothing clattered, Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered, as I crossed the corridor; For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios and wierd decor Bric-a-brac and junk galore. Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered, In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth - "Nevermore." While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up, Then I crouched and quickly lept up, pouncing on the feathered bore. Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore - Only this and not much more. "Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat, it's time I dried out! Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird before; How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant, valiant kitty Put an end to that damned ditty" - then I heard him start to snore. Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that statue I abhor, Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.

The Query

Adapted by Rob Collins Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, Program manuals piled high, and wasted paper on the floor, Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, still I sat there, doing spreadsheets For the high and mighty deadbeats whom I do computing for -- For the overpaid executives who left at half past four -- Too important to ignore. Under orders from the boss to make our profit beat our loss, I drew old data out of DOS, lured it into Lotus 4-- Skipping sleep and suppertime, working well past eight and nine, Though I earned no overtime, still I wrestled with the chore. My career was on the line and a deadline loomed before loomed, Too important to ignore. Ah, I know I did not smile as I struggled with the file Till the data was compiled. Then I latched the A drive's door. With a weary, quaking hand I invoked the Save command, When there came a reprimand, implying damage was in store-- A cryptic reprimand with but three options to explore: explore: Abort, Retry, Ignore? Much I marveled: the repeating cursor like a heartbeat beating Glowed beneath the cheating message that the monitor now wore. Now I glowered, nearly raving, for the PC wasn't saving The result of all my slaving, for the spreadsheet wouldn't store. All my work would be for nothing if it came to nothing more more Than Abort, Retry, Ignore? “What is this?” I barely muttered. “What's this question you have uttered?” This I stuttered as my floppy fluttered, spun, and spun some more.“Is my file going to copy? What has happened to my floppy, To my floppy that you've trapped behind the spinning A drive door? Answer, damn you!” But the screen displayed the same words as before before: Abort, Retry, Ignore? Visage pale and fingers trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending, Hoping for a happy ending, and that all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee, finally I pressed a key, But the stubborn VDT displayed the same words as before, The cathode rays conspired to show the same words as before: before: Abort, Retry, Ignore? No result! So twice as hard, to try and catch the thing off-guard, I pressed and pressed, but still the same canard appeared, until I swore. Frantically, in desperation, I pressed keys in combination; Still I read the incantation, steeped in necromantic lore --Deadly silent incantation, in the same words as before: before: Abort, Retry, Ignore? Fearful, desperate, exhausted, by my own machine accosted, Knowing now my work was lost, I pushed my papers to the floor. “Ah, ye gods!” I started screaming, “All is lost! I must be dreaming!” The computer sat there seeming to enjoy the great furor, Sat there saying the same saying that it said so oft before: before: Abort, Retry, Ignore? Now I pounded keys pell-mell, pressed CTRL and ALT and DEL, Shouted “Dammit all to hell!” with imprecations by the score. But the PC was unbending as my data's life was ending,my despair past comprehending: All was lost, forevermore! My epitaph, it seemed, would bear this question at its core: score: Abort, Retry, Ignore? The computer I am hating still is waiting, still is waiting With its query, unabating, that it needs an answer for. In the morning, when the office opens up, and then the boss comes, The screen will offer options for an unexpected chore, For handling that human in a heap upon the floor: Abort, Retry, Ignore? _