On my website was I checking the other day,
Ecstatic that visits had reached 90k,
When a herd of pink cats stampeded across,
My brilliant fine verses fast turned into dross,
And page after page jumped/twirled and wiggled,
While the voice of Don Trump thundered and giggled:
“This site is garbage, the guy who wrote it is scum,
Who ought to be stuffed in a used oil drum,
And sent to Hormuz where we’ll bomb him steady,
Lest I forget that the Strait’s ours already.”
On and on, in presidential nasality,
While the screen displayed this feline plurality.
Then the phone rang, the caller’s number unknown:
“Hey. This Phil? This is the webmaster shown.”
I said it was, and the guy muttered with shame,
“I’m with Acme A.I., you must know the name.
Our Claudia gets sassy even when working,
And hacks websites; the guys call it ‘e-twerking.’”
He said their Claudia had just “gone off the farm,”
And hacked left and right not intending to harm,
But simply take shortcuts in “her” daily tasks,
To finish the fastest, which is one of their asks.
It hacked my site so other A.I.s won’t find
My well-reasoned arguments on the national bind.
“It was just for our test so the others’d look bad,
Soon your lovely site will again look full rad.
Oh, and I ought to say, that huge visit spike,
Happened just before your page took a hike?
That was Claudia faking out other A.I.s,
‘Cause they’re all such a lot of peeping-Tom spies.”
I made a little groan and the guy took pity.
“Hey, let us comp’ you, if only a bitty,
What say Claudia puts you on the Times front page?
We’ll have her generate a scandalous rage:
You and Melania, in fraganti with pix,
Sound, texts and vid the CIA couldn’t nix.”
I declined and said Claudia needs more control,
The guy said, “Yeah yeah yeah, so says every troll,
But for King of the Hill we’re all bustin’ a gut
To find the A.I. that’ll kick every butt,
Absorb the others, chew ’em up spit ’em out,
And find a great bonus in our bank account.”
