To My Dearest Internet . . .
Dear Internet,
Some days you’re a treasure I’d never replace – – just wanna send you a Cyber Hug.
Other days, you’re nothing but a huge disgrace – – just wanna pull your darn plug.
Without you, I wouldn’t have found a website to meet the Man of My Dreams,
Or discovered that Organic Farm Raised salmon isn’t always what it seems.
Farm-Raised or Wild? The Internet has the scoop on which is worse for you! Oh and google, “blackened lemons” you’ll be outraged at what that does to your health!
Thank goodness you give me the opportunity to cleverly Google. . .
“How to find free coupons” so I can actually claim to be frugal.
You’re adorable – – everyday I can see another cute, little kitten,
Or check out WordPress for new great posts *that’ve recently been written.
But when I look up *“that’ve” on the online Webster Dictionary,
to make sure it’s a true contraction, I find out it’s purely *Fictionary!
Oh wait, there’s more! I search and find *“Fictionary” is also not a real word?
You’re wasting my time with all this obsessive checking, it’s totally absurd!
But thanks for letting me bank, shop, and rent movies with a click – – so convenient.
Until lotsa time gets wasted when your Password Prompts aren’t very lenient.
The name of my first pet? First boyfriend? First Pimp? Which town did I go to school in?
No, you didn’t really ask me the Pimp question, I confess I was sorta just foolin’!
And you SHOULD Remember them. But how?? Who was my first boyfriend anyway? The boy I passed notes to? The boy I hit? The boy I kissed? The boy I . . . ?
But then you eagerly insist I type some odd code to prove I’m a real person,
A string of nonsense so hard to decipher, my disdain for you starts to worsen.
Why do you need my information to be so secure, so precise and so exact?
I found out the other day, it’s because people like me tend to get hacked!
Go ahead – – mess up my accounts, my Facebook, blogs, & email – – there’s nothing left,
Before the invention of you, Dear Internet, there wasn’t this much Identity Theft!
Well if they become me, they’ll get my poor memory, my big hair, plus six kids galore,
Come to think of it, even I don’t really desire to be Me anymore!!
But one things for sure, you need to stop making everything be about sex,
In that way, Dear Internet – – you actually remind me an awful lot of my Ex.
We can filter our drinking water, our swimming pools, our coffee, and an aquarium. But can we filter out S-E-X from the Internet??
My Ex loved computers and when we divorced, shortly after his move-out evacuation. . .
I inherited his Apple before I knew how to use it – – I call it “Premature iMaculation.”
“Hey! This is Little Miss Menopause’s Ex-husband chiming in, none of this is true,
It seems she writes whatever she wants about me, and her Followers have no clue!”
See Dear Internet? Even a simple poem that I compose for you is subject to a hijacking.
If I were smarter, I would write on a typewriter – – and just like my Ex, send you packing!
Well it looks as though (at least for the foreseeable future) you’re staying a big part of my life,
But no more Info about Cleaning, Recipes for Dinner, and Sex – – I am sooo NOT your Wife!!
Disclaimer: “Man of Dreams” and “Ex Husband” mentioned without their permission. They comment here regularly. Please visit their WordPress blogs as way of compensation for “good-natured” participation.
Once Upon Your Prime 