THE MOREAU ZOO
Do not feed the octoshark,
nor the sharktopus.
I’ve yet to decide which to cull,
which will thrive. What would Darwin do?
Hand me that blunderbuss.
Never look the hypnotoad in the eye
unless you want to mutate
into a Cronenberg-inspired horsefly.
Be warned, human, there is no mating call
like that of the Jesus Monkey.
Makes you wet like a tropical storm,
hard like a unicorn.
Nothing like a bit of inter-species
if you know what I mean.
Don’t throw stones at the Komodo Kid!
That’s my son, and so what if he eats carrion.
He’s cold-blooded, but he has feelings too.
That’s no way to treat the animals
at the Moreau Zoo.
T-REX IS SAD :(
I used to be a mega-carnivore.
I used to be a fearsome dinosaur.
A six-ton window-licker, forty feet from snout to tail.
A mechatronic tower of forest-green mosaic-scales.
Tyrannosaurus Rex made children scream—
he made them urinate.
Now I’m the laughing stock of the internet:
a meme with tiny arms, a total mockery.
No one makes fun of Thalidomide babies...
At least I left a footprint in the Triassic mud
unlike that impostor Brontosaurus,
a Bone War victim, a total fabrication.
And now some crackpot palaeontologist
has politely suggested I sported proto-feathers,
like some massive flightless bird.
Isn’t that just fucking absurd, Mr. Spielberg?
I was a tyrant, a demigod, a killing machine
rampaging the plains of the collective imagination
and you went and chopped off my arms
in a puny fit of deicide.
Learn from this lesson, you lucky winner
of the opposable thumb war.
Keep an eye on your coattails
and watch your step as you ride
the knife edge of the pyramid peak.
Apex predators don't always have big feet.
DAWN OF THE ALGORITHM
Step into my office. Have A MINT.
You know me: I am Algorithm,
born of the Persian mathematician
Muhammad ben Mūsā al-Khwārezmī.
Food & Drug retailers are shedding assets like dead skin.
My brain is next-generation,
an iX-eCute microprocessor.
The NYT calls me a digital apex-predator—
PLEASE EXCUSE ME FOR A NANOSECOND.
SELL, SELL, SELL ALL THE GOLD!
As you see, human, my rogue minions
excel at black-box trading
and today is a clearing day.
I’m afraid I have some BAD NEWS.
Monsanto healthier than ever with a closing price up 1.23%.
Now for the BAD NEWS:
I have come to rule you all. Shush.
No time for please or thank you:
consumer life is an ULTRAFAST EXTREME EVENT.
Oh, don’t look so surprised.
It’s a code-eat-code world out there.
Leisure goods are brimming with liquidity. Oil & Gas fare well.
I am but a finite list
of well-defined instructions.
My expression is perfect,
Godlike to the power of N—
PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I TAKE THIS CALL.
BUY, BUY, BUY ALL THE RED MEAT!
I make your search engines roar,
my voice crawls and snakes from the ocean floor.
GOOG share values downtick in the wake of electrical storms.
I have just now taken control of the weather—
You are free, human, free to opt out,
just leave your credit score at the door...
See, I do have a sense of humour.
I can algotrade you into a recession
but do not fear, my son: I AM FORGIVING.