A Young Man's Prayer Before Christmas
Tis the week before Christmas
And think, as ye de-tox,
What gift has she got us?
An iPod? An Xbox?
A Europe-wide Satnav?
A TomTom? A Sony?
A Skype phone that free-calls
Sierra Leone?
Or how 'bout a
32 inch LCD?
Or injury insurance
For Nintedo Wii?
Or Bluetooth car gizmos?
Or new walkie talkies?
Or internet radios
For FM Milwaukee?
Lord, let her know 'bout
Our honed gaming palate;
For 'Counter Strike', 'Halo',
And 'Metal Gear Solid'
Our ‘GTA’ prowess,
Our ‘Dragon Quest’ scores,
Our seven month mission
To beat ‘Gears Of War’
She’d better not get us
Some ‘unisex’ game;
Like Singstar, or Eyetoy,
Or ‘Dating Night’ Sims.
Some stupid pink mobile
With no megapixels,
Or USB gadgets
That ‘give you a tickle’
Twere better to get
E’en a yoke for snowboarders
Than internet fridges
That take remote orders
And domestic applicances?
Of those we need nowt.
Put that in the stocking?
Right love, you're out
But iMacs or laptops
Would be rather nice
(Though note we don’t take
Either keyboards or mice)
An MP4 movie-tunes
Player would rock
(E’en though such tech savvy
From her'd be a shock)
The moral is, ladies,
That blokes like their tech
Jeans? Shoes? Spring knitwear?
They're not worth a feck
The hour approacheth,
The moment awaits;
When tomorrow comes we
Want to feel like Bill Gates.
Cos love’s on the line,
And here lies the test;
If tech’s not the pressie,
It’s time for a rest.
