You pre-recorded nuisance callers – you know who you are --
I’ve finally had my fill of you, I’ve crossed the fury bar.
You call me and harangue me every hour of day and night
With unrelenting nonsense and advice on phony plight.
No longer will I stand for this. I’ve got some voodoo powers;
I shall not let them go to waste. And so, from Scanlan Towers,
I’m going to cast a wicked spell and have a batch of fun with you;
You’ll writhe in pain and go insane until at last I’m done with you.
I’ll make my own recording, and, remotely, in your ears,
Insert it, with the volume up, till you are brought to tears.
I’ll stick pins in my telephone, so when you call my number,
Your throes will feel like long nails being driven into lumber.
In documents like this one I will render versey-cursey
Until you shrivel in your shoes and vainly beg for mercy.
I hope I’ve made my message plain. I hate to take such measures,
But this assures an end to those robotic dumb displeasures.