So I wrote this poem about a guy who goes on vacation and dies because he has no internet and can't play Glitch.
Well, not really.
I'm happy to hear that I'm going away
To a land with excitement and fun every day.
But the thing that will make me feel wistful and glum
Is that I can't play Glitch, and it's really a bum!
No tacos or salads or frying pan roasts,
No Mazza'la and Groddle and Alakol coasts,
No Awesome Pots, Knives and Boards, Saucepans or Grills,
No Blenders, and Cocktails and potions or stills,
No skills and no learning, no Salatu shores,
No caverns, no vendors, no World of Ur tours,
No foxes, no sloths, and no chickens, no mines,
No Giants, no favor, no emblems, no shrines,
No cubis, no parties, no tinkertool crafts,
No powders, no compounds, no Awesome Stew wafts,
No harvesting, watering, petting the trees,
No milk and no meat and no grain and no cheese,
No beans and no bubbles, no vapour, no fruit,
No paper, no eggs, and no wood, and no Stoot,
No soil, no patches, no crabbies, no spice,
No crops, no potatoes, no herbs and no rice,
No snapshots and groups and no forums and friends,
No place where excitement and fun never ends!
I think that no Glitch, it is making me ill.
When I can't pet piggies or cook with a grill.
I sputter and gasp and I cough and I wheeze,
I gargle and barf and I fizz and I sneeze.
My stomach is hurting, my head has an ache,
My mind is in trauma, my life is at stake,
My lack of the Internet's hurting my brain,
My fingers are sore and my legs are in pain.
My face is all sweaty, my hands are all numb,
There are bumps on my pinky and warts on my thumb,
I'm feeling so dizzy, the pain in my gut,
This might be my last day alive, and---wait! What?
You say your hotel has high-speed Internet?
This is the best trip that I have had yet!