Alas, poor SGI! I knew it, intarweb: a company of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: it hath borne me on its back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here mounted were those chips that I have programmed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of genius, that were wont to set the industry on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.