Ozymandias

You know what I'm talking about. The old Byron poem about the statue in the middle of the desert, of a king no one remembers. 'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair' and all that nonsense.
Well, I feel a bit like that, right now. I've built things that I thought were infernally eternal, no matter what I did to them, I built and built, and didn't test them, cause I was afraid they'd crumble.
And crumble they have, because I haven't had the guts to take care of them the way I should.
Oh noes!
I've buggered up again!