He doted on phishing, that viral new-fangled
invasion, though most of his handshakes were tangled.
He fumbled his Trojans, all cunningly dangled
in front of my mouse, so that I would be wangled
to click on the bait. My nerve ends were jangled.
And next came the item that put me in shock.
He wrote an apology titled: Dot Doc.
I needed a password with which to unlock
those few paltry bytes. They were sheer poppycock.
I wrote: Here's my answer for your CPU.
Read it and weep. You can download it, too.
As for this notional marriage? We’re through!