In the era of ABBA (Admins Born Before Andy)
There were ancient ones unorthodox,
Hewn from weathered Prog Rocks,
Forged deep in the bowels of a distant day,
Where dinosaurs did roam and play
In concert halls and in arenas filled,
With golden axes that giants wield,
As beasts beat on skins a paradiddle,
While with bow on gut a maestro would fiddle,
And wizards' dancing fingers beguiled with glee,
On keys carved of ivory and darkest ebony,
So minstrels could sing to the gallery.
They were worshipped and even revered,
As demi-gods and more, some feared.
While lesser men looked on and sneered,
At music so complex and weird.
The years did pass and memories faded,
Some say that these times were jaded.
So to a later age more ancients came,
Cast as guardians of a hall of fame,
Custodians of an ancient lore,
Held within its vast chambered store,
Preserved, so this wisdom would survive...
Remembered in The Prog Archive.
They came as told and some truly,
Prog seekers of old and some newly,
From college enrolled and some high-schooley,
But forum trolls were bold and some unruly,
Collaborators they cajoled, yet some coolly...
Frustration: aberration, try, cessation we cry!
Protestation: indignation, allay, condemnation we pray!
Arbitration : Moderation, nay, Administration we say!
(We'd really like this fixed yesterday)
So wise men four were chosen
Of great wisdom and greater age,
The preacher, the teacher, the seer and the sage,
Taken to a place that Max had shown,
And secreted in a guarded Admin Zone,
The preacher, the teacher, the seer and the sage,
Just for a cheer, and not a wage,
But not for them a humble bower,
They built themselves a Crystal Tower,
The preacher, the teacher, the seer and the sage,
Now set to rule, to teach, to steer and manage.
The time did pass as time will ought
Through attrition were more Admins sought
From the three corners of the Earth where sunlight caught
And from that land in the north that saw naught,
Elder men summoned: 'Come alone',
And to the Crystal Tower brought
To make of it all their own,
That palace in the Admin Zone.
By firm hand and words stern in tone,
Disputes they quelled through considered thought
(No wars were waged, no battles fought).
This tale I tell is not of those giants
On whose deeds and wisdom we are so reliant
Of B, T, the two J’s and G from Brazil
Who ruled this place with consummate skill
Nor is it of those fearless ones who came after
Who filled the forum with bold proclamation and laughter
Oh, the sagas I could relate of that age
Would fill more volumes than this mere page
But this story is of how one sort out and found he,
The tireless one known to all as just Andy
So forward in time we must race
To keep the tale moving with pace…
Yet still as ancient as the trove in their care,
Yet slow and cumbrous these Admins were;
Yet detached from the dominion they guarded.
Yet creaking bones and craggy faces regarded,
Lined with furrowed brow from ponderous glower,
Sat below an Azure Spire so blue,
Crowning a Crystal Tower,
Feasting upon oyster and caviar,
Washed with Champagne, Premier Cru
Quaffed from a gilded jar...
(The years tick by in the blink of an eye,
They did what was best, and then for some rest,
As day turns to eve, some upped and did leave,
Of this they did tire, it was time to retire,
Few they now number and wearily they slumber...)
Abruptly rising from a sleep unsound,
He casts his rheumy eyes around,
Like glowing embers in the fire,
His rumbling voice to shake the Tower and Spire.
'New Blood!' An ancient cried... a plaintive sound,
'We need New Blood!' he did resound,
The others slowly awoke from their slumber deep,
Grunted, farted and went back to sleep.
'New Blood!'
'From where?' Did one loudly moan,
With a reverberant thunderous groan,
So awoke another, somnolently prone,
Dark he looked and forlorn, then sighed, dismayed.
'From the Shred.' He said, his voice a-quake.
Another fell from bed, awake,
So filled with dread, he tremulous spake:
'You go first.' He bade.
‘What? Really?’ the chosen one did complain,
‘It’s… it’s so … unfair’ he protested, alas in vain,
For the other Admins had fallen asleep again.
To complain, disdain of another crapshoot
Such protestations would now be moot
So as they dreamed none heard him curse
That today it seemed could get no worse
So as a dumb wretch he stood there mute,
Then called a Mod ‘Come fetch your armour suit’.
Resigned to a fate he could no longer postpone
So with steps uneasy he ventured out alone,
From the AZ to CZ and then the member zone,
His quest at last had now truly begun
As onward he pressed to 'Just For Fun'
For deep in that lounge it has oft been said,
Lies the place known to many as The Shred
Bleak thoughts unkind now filled his head
Of what he’d find in that curse-ed thread
It’s not that it was an Admin no-go area,
It was no more dangerous or anything scarier
Than a stagnant pond plagued with malaria
Hence why he was dressed from hat to boot
In the armoured garb of a Hazmat suit
Scared not of what schemes were hatching
Just feared what they had was still catching
From such things it takes time to recover,
For proof of that just ask the Reed Lover.
On such lamentable pondering his mind stewed
But not to allow his temperament brood,
He searched of something to raise his mood,
What he needed now was mindless distraction
The adrenaline rush of some swift forum action,
He knew from experience it would not be long
Before he found a foul troll doing some wrong
So soon he spied a naughty man, spammer
And a chance to wield the mighty ban hammer…
As the Malleus he lifted his confidence shifted
As none could match the speed of his dispatch
With the target in sight and with all of his might
In one quick clout he sorted the @#£$ out
With the bot defeated the offending posts he deleted
What more could he ask so returned to his task
The location itself was not difficult for him to tell,
Distinguishable to even a dulled sense of smell.
And the sound of loud music over which one must yell
Off At Tangents this was not, nor Silly Story that’s plain,
It was something yet more disturbing and insane,
The path before its door messy and unguarded
With empty pizza boxes and beer cans discarded
With tentative step he silently snuck inside
And carefully found himself a place to hide.
What happened within he would not say,
Though questioned many times since that day,
But his hair once dark was now peppered grey.
Back to the Crystal Tower he solemnly reported
But refused to return to The Shred, even escorted
Instead spoke a name to the mirror like Candyman
To lure out the one they called Andyman.
Now some of you doubt and say this is just fable
But I speak the truth as far as I am able.
For now we have arrived at the tale's epilogue,
Four years Andy guarded the Archive of Prog,
And now he’s stepped down for a rest,
The lad did good, he was one of the best!
Edited by Dean - June 03 2016 at 10:01
/PAlogo_v2.gif "Progarchives.com Homepage")
In the era of ABBA (Admins Born Before Andy)
Topic Options
! His work on the Collaborators' Top Album Lists is invaluable.