you need to shut up with your 1 2 3 way back hairline.
Love is a merry little elf who dances a jig, then turns on you with a machine gun.
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the nets,
Not a mousie was stirring, not even the pets.
The floppies were stacked by the modem with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The files were nestled all snug in a folder,
The screen-saver turned on, the weather was colder.
And leaving the keyboard along with my mouse,
I turned from the screen to the rest of the house.
When up from the drive there arose such a clatter,
I turned to the screen to see what was the matter.
Away to the mouse I flew like a flash,
Zoomed open a window in fear of a crash...
The glow from the screen on the keyboard below,
Gave an electronic luster to all my macros.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little sleigh icon with eight tiny reindeer.
And a tiny disk driver so SCSI and quick,
I knew in a nano it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than trackballs his cursors they came,