The Song of Hauser
[1]
How graceful are your adapters in your gadget box, O well equipped
maiden! Your rounded banana plugs are like jewels, the work of a
Universal Hand.
[2]
Your earphone pads are rounded bowls that ever lack mixed whines.
Your belly is a Passport platform, encircled with Pringles crumbs.
[3]
Your two speakers are like two mounds, twins of a Mars bar.
[4]
Your tower is like an ivory neck. Your tuning eyes are tools
in Cumbre by the gate of Barbara in the Land of Osterman. Your
nodes are like solders of lead and tin overlooking damn ass kiss.
[5]
Your headphones crown you like melted carmel, and your lead-ins
are like purple chiltlins; a listlogger is held captive in the
tresses.
[6]
How farad and PL259 you are, O behausered one, sync detectable
maiden!
[7]
You are staticy as a palm reader, and your hooters are like the
owls therein.
[8]
I say you will climb the palm reader and lay hold of its beams.
Oh, may your melons be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of
your breath like apples,
[9]
and your kisses like the best wine cooler that goes down smoothly,
gliding over the lips and teeth and drippeth onto the Passport in
thine lap.
[10]
I am my behausered�s, and his desire is for me.
[11]
Come, my behausered, let us go for into the Dxpedition, and lodge
in the Family Cabins;
[12]
let us go out early, to catcheth the Asians, and see whether the
vines have budded pirates, whither the PNGs have opened and the Indos
are in bloom. There I will give you my listlogs.
[13]
The mandrakes give forth fragrance, and over our doors are all
choice lead-ins, new as well as old, which I have laid up for you,
O my behausered one.