Rump Roast Theatre Deluxe

Filling out a form upon the internets
A common everyday occurrence
Nothing special to see here
Move right along

Name and address
With a phone number
In case they want to call me for a date
The last four of my social
Which I figure everyone in the world must have by now
Some answers to three security questions
Which I arrange to form a humorous phrase
Not that anyone will notice ever

Name of first teacher:  RUMP
Street you grew up on:  ROAST
Brand of first car:  THEATRE

That's also my go to password
But don't tell anyone
I just add the word DELUXE to the end of it
And add in a few caps

RumpRoastTheatreDeluxe

There
Now it's no longer a deep dark secret
And I feel immensely better

But it really doesn't matter
Because at the end of the page
I had to fill out a Captcha
And this particular captcha

It captcha'd ME

Now I'm stuck inside the machine
Always looking out from flat LCD screens
Haunting the last lonely cathode ray tubes
Bumming a ride in someone's smartphone

It's a heck of a life
But I miss being a meatsack
This just isn't fulfilling at all

They've got me mining Bitcoins
With a mathematical pick in hand
Crunching for unique numbers
It's all so mind-numbingly bland

I look up every now and then
And try to get away with things
So if you ever see something that seems strange
It was most likely me

HELP I'M BEING HELD HOSTAGE
IN A RUMP ROAST THEATRE DELUXE

You know
Shit like that