The Twitter by Tom Martin Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over a quaint and curious Commodore 64, While I pounded the keyboard, tap, tap, tapping, I received a notice of some type of podcasting, podcasting on my Commodore 64, How could there be podcasting on my Commodore 64, I can’t use this, what’s this for? When I looked up my DOS screen rippled like a curtain, Thrilled me ‐ filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; Someone’s messaging me, of this I feel certain, Despite no links to the internet for my Commodore 64, Not even a dial‐up for my Commodore 64, For, alas, I am too poor. Upon the screen, a message did open, “Is there someone there,” I did implore, Or is this, I thought, merely the last utterance spoken, Spoken from the help button of my Commodore 64, If I hadn’t snapped it off my Commodore 64, Would the screen fade to black, to nothing more. But to my surprise there was a tweet, I thrilled at what the message bore, Something beckoning ever so sweet, Beckoning me through my Commodore 64, How could I tweet from my Commodore 64, Could I be linked to even more? It was quite a shock and quite a sensation, “Share the World!” the text message bore. It was willing to share all my personally identifiable information, All of the information trapped in my Commodore 64, Trapped in my little box from the eighties, my Commodore 64, Information the world can’t ignore. Finally, all the stories I could tell, and imagine the books that I could sell, And all the useful information that I could outpour, But then there blew in a “fail whale,” And blew out my 8‐bit home computer, my Commodore 64, And now I’m alone with my Commodore 64, Only this, and nothing more.