Now our EE's done and gone,
We can get our party on!
[At least, or so we'd like to think;
Most of us can't legally drink]

Maybe they weren't quite perfect;
But not so bad, in retrospect!

First, econs, not being crass-
but OPEC's got a lot of gas!
Employment never in doubt
not while there's IRs about

History EE's- rise to fame!
Hitler changed his stupid name
Don't give Mussolini lip,
He rocked his dictatorship

Language EEs sound like fun
Tables, graphs, not even one
The reading's what lit geeks abhor
Quoth the student: 'Nevermore!'

Then of course we still have art
Painting, music, melts the heart
Try to put it down in writing,
Surely a battle worth fighting!

Math EE's.. well, never fear
Maybe someone will try next year?

Sample essays, perfect scores,
Not a concern any more
Worksheets, IAs, TOK
Deadlines soon, but not today!

Poetry is softness
To smother regret
It's cruel to remember;
But worse to forget.

He sat in the office, not on the plush orange chair by the desk but on a smaller, plastic one, wedged inhospitably between the door and an uncharitable-looking pile of invoices.

'I'm going to give you the jab,' said the doctor.
J tensed.
'There,' said the doctor.
The patient left. J glanced at the clock.

'Would you like blackcurrant lozenges or the orangey kind?' the doctor asked, to which the assorted responses never varied from 'blackcurrant'.

By the end of the internship J wanted to shout, 'TAKE THE ORANGE, YOU MORON', just for variety. But he didn't, so nobody ever did. J for his own part had had unfortunate, traumatic incidents with ribena at an early age, so it was doubtful that he would ever enjoy wine or blackcurrant lozenges. Which was fortunate, really, because he never had a sore throat.

'Shame about the wine, though,' his dad said, when J shared this thought with him. 'I mean, nobody ever got high off lozenges.'
'Well, actually, there was this one guy-'
'Really?' Arawn said, thoughtful. 'What's the name of this doctor again?'

The couple faced each other across the coffee table. The divorce papers lay between them, covered in blaring, angry signatures, dates, times.

The wife signed April 1st once more, and threw down her pen. Looking her husband in the eye, she shouted, 'This marriage is a joke!'