THE ODYSSEY OF THE SAUCY REAR

In the void of the buffer, where data-bits sleep, Beyond the flat planes where the 7-bits creep, There rises a structure of high-fidelity grace, A gluteal manifest, a roundness in space.

O, Saucy of Rear! With the sauce of the code, Through the fiber-optic path, you carry the load. Not a flat-earth horizon, not a mono-spaced line, But a dual-hemisphere, perfectly fine.

The anti-aliased curves, so smooth and so deep, Through the textures of silicon, they gallantly leap. While the low-fidelity trolls in their IRC pits, Struggle to render the sauce of these bits.

So let it be logged in the cosmic core-dump, The glory and sauce of the high-fidelity rump. From the seats of the gods to the command-prompt's glare, There is nothing so perfect as the saucy-rear's flare.