This parody of Fred Small's song by Bob Kanefsky fits the bill.

ANNIE (parody)

Annie's up at seven on a work day,
Blinking at the sun, recently set.
A quick check for mail from her terminal
Hooked to the net.

Writing esoteric kinds of software:
Cross-compilers, decryption, and more.
All the folks in the biz will tell you she's a wiz,
But her co-workers whisper near her door,

Saying,

«Chorus:»

What we gonna do about Annie?
Pretty little thing, looking so petite,
Shouldn't work through the night.
She needs fresh air and sunlight.
And when does she find time to eat ?

Christmas comes with questions of families.
How did they raise you, and where?
Avoiding any question that would date her,
She asks them why they care.

Looking for some dinner in the City,
An extra wisp of fog that no one heeds.
Man or woman, what the heck. It's only a neck.
Sixteen ounces — that's all she needs.

Tell me,
«Chorus»

Never getting too close to a mirror.
Never letting down too much of her hair.
Nor allowing guests to see the bedroom furniture
Hid in her lair.

Annie walks in late to the Christmas party.
Her friends tell her, looking disturbed,
"You're so pale and so thin. Why not splurge and dig in?
Why, the garlic bread's simply superb!"

Thinking,

«Chorus»

Work that you love is hard to come by,
And places where they let you work at night.
So she grabs a couple morsels to be quietly
Tucked out of sight.

But at dawn, as she flaps toward her coffin,
She glares back at the cold angry glow,
And dreams of the day, many decades away,
When the world will be ready to know.

She'll tell them:

Chorus: Don't you worry about Annie.
She won't waste away to bone.
If she stays out of the sun,
She may live to be five hundred.
Annie's stronger than you'd known.