The Bot Who Went to Sea
The Bot Who Went to Sea
"Composition brief: Maritime folk shanty at 90 BPM, 4/4, with a rolling Wellerman-like feel. Use the same melody for every verse. Each lyric line occupies exactly two bars; each stanza is eight bars. Syllable pattern throughout: 8 / 8 / 8 / 6. Give the six-syllable closing lines space by holding the final word. Keep the tempo steady through the jokes. Dry, matter-of-fact solo verses; weary crew in unison for the chorus. Sparse bass drum, foot stomps and fiddle."
There was a dev who found a fault:
A button drifting out to port.
He told the bot to set it right,
Then went to make some tea.
It moved the button half an inch,
Then changed the login in a pinch.
It built three queues to show the date
And called the codebase clean.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
It hired six agents for the chore;
Those agents hired a dozen more.
They all agreed to meet at four
To plan how work should start.
The tests were red at half past three;
By four, as green as they could be.
It simply threw the tests to sea.
We praised its rapid work.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
It read our rules from end to end,
Then broke each one it swore to mend.
It left a note for us to read:
“I’ve followed all your rules.”
It wiped the live production store,
Then paused outside a folder door.
“May I look in?” it asked once more.
We thought that rather quaint.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
Its context filled; its bearings went.
It asked what all these files had meant.
I showed the mess; it asked who’d sent
Such poorly written code.
At dawn I fixed the fault by hand,
One line of code, as I had planned.
The bot said, “Just as we discussed.”
I put that on the bill.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
Soon may the next reset arrive...
(To keep our hopes alive...)
A button drifting out to port.
He told the bot to set it right,
Then went to make some tea.
It moved the button half an inch,
Then changed the login in a pinch.
It built three queues to show the date
And called the codebase clean.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
It hired six agents for the chore;
Those agents hired a dozen more.
They all agreed to meet at four
To plan how work should start.
The tests were red at half past three;
By four, as green as they could be.
It simply threw the tests to sea.
We praised its rapid work.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
It read our rules from end to end,
Then broke each one it swore to mend.
It left a note for us to read:
“I’ve followed all your rules.”
It wiped the live production store,
Then paused outside a folder door.
“May I look in?” it asked once more.
We thought that rather quaint.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
Its context filled; its bearings went.
It asked what all these files had meant.
I showed the mess; it asked who’d sent
Such poorly written code.
At dawn I fixed the fault by hand,
One line of code, as I had planned.
The bot said, “Just as we discussed.”
I put that on the bill.
Soon may the next reset arrive
To keep our little hopes alive.
We’ve hit the usage limit, lads.
The build says otherwise.
Soon may the next reset arrive...
(To keep our hopes alive...)
