As promised, here's a ChatGPT response to the OP. Terrifying:
🎵 “The Ballad of the Broadband Blues” (to the tune and tone of Lehrer’s “Smut”)
I do not mind erotica,
In moderate exotica,
A tasteful glimpse of hosiery
Can brighten up the day—
But he prefers variety,
In troubling sobriety,
He’s surfing like a sailor
Who has lost his moral way!
He’s clicking through the night again,
With tissues as his only friend,
While I’m in bed alone composing
Forums posts at three A.M.—
He claims it’s not adultery,
It’s “illness,” “neurochemistry,”
But pardon me, that’s splitting hairs
(And heaven knows he’s trimmed all them!)
He’s joined the twelve-step fellowship,
But still he takes his pixel trip,
And every “slip” means Netflix nights
And zero marital bliss—
For when his “sobriety” does fail,
Our romance goes completely stale,
And I get none of his attention—
He’s too busy cleaning… his browser history.
So AIBU to pack my bag?
To drop the mouse and wave the flag?
Perhaps not cruel, but commonsense,
When love’s been cached away—
For though he swears he’ll one day stop,
And keep his cursor from the top,
I think I’ll leave him to his laptop…
And log out while I may! 🎵
Good luck OP (from the human.)