I have broken out of my norms, and written a poem.
Roses are read, violets are blue,
They're sometimes annoying, the things that we do;
Like saying 'Your welcome' when really it's 'you're',
Or typing a 'which' when a 'that' is called for;
Or putting in Caps Every Word That We Say,
As if it were holier, typed out that way.
But what has to stand as the king of the wrongs--
A tendency noticed, and seen for too long,
Is putting odd words, as we will and we want,
In utterly dreadful and trite boldface font.
It's as though if exclaiming in bold what we mean
Our real intentions will leap of the screen;
But they don't: it's a fable, a myth and a lore,
And so tacky bold becomes bold underscore.
'Now everybody will know that I'm wise,
But just to be sure, I can italicise.'
It's horrid, it's woeful, this dreadful display;
I wish that the boldface would just go away.
A phrase that needs bold just to say what it means
Is a phrase that is not worth its space on the screen;
And a thought needing this is a thought that's said wrong--
All the bold in the world will not make it strong.
Real emphasis comes from the words that we say;
O boldface, italics: go far, far away!
Take with you your brother, that dread underscore,
We'll all do much better to see you no more.