The Windows, Seven
"The Windows, Seven" is a poem by the great American poet, Bill Gates. It is written in the style of a fractured fairy tale about a house which had seven windows, all of which were broken, and the winds of change blew through them and made the people inside very cold, indeed. They were apparently broken by a bunch of apple-chucking penguins and penguin-chucking apples. It hints that a giant pile of 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 pieces of chrome is coming which will engage in mighty war with the penguins and apples and may even come to occupy the space where the house used to be. Or it might be crushed itself into a tiny aluminum can of irrelevancy. It goes on to describe how, in the meantime, anyone who moves into the House of Seven Windows will find that they are allowed to change the wallpaper but not to re-arrange the furniture, all of which are bolted to the floor. Despite the broken status of the seven windows, all the windows are predominantly welded shut with the blinds drawn. Gates apparently thought this was somehow a great and wonderful thing, praising it to no end in his final stanza of lameness and irrelevancy. Oh well. Life sucks. Be careful and don't let the parasprites bite! Oh well. I'm so, so bored of this boring poem that i might just watch some MLP:FiM to take this depressing piece somewhere else.
