The latest from John Stossel along with a poem “The Website” from FreedomWorks.
(in the tradition of Edgar Allen Poe)
Once upon an Autumn morning, as I woke up without warning,
The sunrise barely dawning, casting shadows on the floor,
I started my computer, checked my studly WiFi router
And clicked to check a website I had heard of oft before.
Healthcare dot gov it was nam-ed, and promised health care plans galore.
Just the plans and nothing more.See, yesterday my postman’s walking and his strong insistent knocking.
Brought to me a rather shocking note that chilled me to my core.
Cancelled! Gone! My insurance! Though I had complete assurance,
From many an occurrence during Obama’s campaign tour.
All those promises I heard during that massive campaign tour
Hardly mentioned evermore.Oh, I well recall that time, back in the year 2009,
Our President said “I’m gonna make you a deal you can’t ignore.
You won’t lose the plan that you love. I swear it to the stars above.
Even though we’ll add a lot of people who weren’t there before.
But don’t worry about that really, worry is such an awful bore.
That he said, and plenty more.My heart, though heavy, lifted as my thoughts to the web site drifted,
And I felt I had been gifted with that promise that he swore.
On my keyboard did I type the web address that he hyped,
My anticipation ripe, a health plan I would surely score.
An affordable, wondrous health plan bought right from the gov’ment store.
Quoth the website, “404”.“Huh”, I grunted quietly. I typed it again, defiantly,
Must be traffic arriving mightily to the website’s server core.
I clicked once on the center of the button they marked “Enter”
Told them my age and gender, where I lived and so much more.
Income, marital status, children, my favorite band and more
Quoth the website, “404”.“Oh, come on!”, I shouted, reeling, gaze cast up toward the ceiling.
“I can’t spend my day dealing with this. Work!”, I did implore.
The error message mocked me. From my health plan it had blocked me.
Then the darned thing locked my computer up from any chore.
A spinning ball kept me from even the most mundane chore.
Oh, how I hated 404.To the help line I did hurry, my mind filled full of worry,
I dialed in a hurry, a helpful angel to implore.
Sure enough, a conversation in which I voiced my keen frustration,
“It is an aberration”, she said. “A glitch, we’ve seen before.
You need not fear another, for we’ve seen this thing before.”
Quoth the website, “404”.We spoke an hour longer, but the glitch only grew stronger,
And it seemed she did prolong her excuse-making galore.
I could not hide my ire. What programmers did they hire?
My situation is dire, I explained from on the floor,
(I had grown quite weary talking and had lain down on the floor).
“Get rid of this 404!”She could not explain this cursed glitch I had attained,
They had barely trained her to stray from her typed script score.
Our call then terminated and I felt that I had fainted.
My noble spirit subordinated by Barack Obama’s war,
Against my poor defenseless health plan he had declared bloody war.
His weapon? The 404.“Oh cruel fate”, I shouted! I railed and screamed and pouted.
My frustrations I spouted until I could yell no more.
But nothing I concocted could free me from the locked
State of my computer, blocked from doing anything more.
Healthcare dot gov had undone me. I could do not one thing more.
Quoth the website, “404”.And that beach ball, never dimming, still is spinning, still is spinning,
As I bash my forehead deskward for the fortieth time or more.
And my browser’s locked up tightly like a bank that closes nightly,
And my curses most unsightly make my vocal cords so sore.
And I’ve offered every curse word any sailor thought he’d swore,
I am trapped in 404.
