Chapter 1

The car, SUV, or whatever it was once was, lay on its side as if it had been a mound of dough slapped flat by callused hands then thrown against a concrete pillar. The pillar was real and seemingly unscathed—still standing proudly helping support the platform above it. But the vehicle—whatever sort it might have been now wrapped around it was just this deformed and rubbery thing. The vehicle, (I was told the make and model before arriving on the scene, but couldn’t remember the details), had an upstanding 5-star safety rating of reinforced steel and hard plastic. Yet today it was just clay. And out of that unglazed pottery shot a solitary arm of flesh and blood—mostly blood. It belonged to what was presumed to be the one person wearing their seatbelt. A lot of good it did them. Another two bodies whose profiles could still be seen under the thin, white sheets now covering them were resting about 15 yards past the pole at an almost exactly 45-degree angle on either side of it. Such is life (and death) and foolishness and just plain bad luck.

This parody is based on the top-polling 2016 Presidential candidates at the time of writing.

(To the tune of "We Will Rock You" by Queen)

Trump Trump, Jeb!  (Replaces foot stomp and hand clap rhythm)
Trump Trump, Jeb!

Neurosurgeon Doctor
   Benjamin Carson,
Carly Fio-ri-na and Ted Cruz

You got Mike Huck-a-bee
   And Rick Santorum
Telling Chris Christie to lay off the Krispy Kremes!


We want we want your vote!
We want we want your vote!

This parody was written for one of our team members at work when she left the company leaving behind some ongoing projects. It contains references to projects and vendors specific to our job, so some things may not make sense.

(To the tune of “99 Problems” by Jay-Z)

If you’re having time problems I feel bad for you son;
I got 99 problems, but K2 ain’t one.

I got…the QC control on the mouse patrol--
Those that wanna make sure the defect’s closed.
Testers cryin’ out that the software blows.
I’m IT stupid what type of facts are those?

I wrote this on my 40th birthday.

If I turned forty today how would I feel?

As a youth in times of Noah?
   As an old man in ancient Rome?
Maybe I would feel “middle aged”,
   (As these days it’s commonly known)?

If I turned forty today what would happen?

Perhaps some morbid reflection;
   Regret of things passed and undone?
An over-the-hill party theme--
   (“From here on it won’t be much fun!”)

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