Playing dress-up at eight

Though things at work are stressful
And often without reason
At least there's a part you can take to heart
It's the start of spooky season!

Apples and eighties at eight

Shana tova! If you celebrate
Tonight is a lesson. I'm sure you can't wait
The sound of a decade and where it was born
Spoiler alert: It's all Trevor Horn

The genius of this place, at eight

How to get "dwell" was one of our worries
I first saw the model on land shared with furries
"A velvet glove around an iron fist"
The name of the sim. How could we resist?
Land owned by Flopsy, club owned by Push
(This was still back during W. Bush)
Push came to shove and fights led to trouble
The club closed the first time; we danced on the rubble
Reappeared in the air, over a zombie sim
Though called Romero, we never met him
We landed. We shuffled. Again, got shut down
Then built up once more, in a place called Downtown
First Jasper, then Astrud, and finally Maht
We had our own sim. But even that
Wasn't enough. Eventually,
We settled our dear club in fair Odyssey
And so, looking back, through the laughter and tears
It's hard to believe it's been seventeen  just sixteen years

Shake your pirate booty at eight

In these days of AI
Only one things is real
Amateurs may borrow
But professionals steal