This is uber-ridiculous, yet funny. Actually, ridiculous doesn't begin to describe it; after all, how many times can I revisit the same old theme of Kaexalate?

K-Axle-8

I've written poems in the past
About the elevated K,
If the serum sample measures high
You have to make it go away,
And the Doctor commonly orders
An elixir; it's disgusting,
A-k-a: Kaexalate
Guaranteed for bowel busting.

But what if this was truck repair
Eighteen-wheeler, to be specific,
The differential diagnosis
Could really be terrific,
In terms of the location
The drive-shaft and its mate,
The nurse envisions a flexi-seal
And the mechanic, K-Axle-8.

So, you have to be real careful
When communicating with Patient-Bob,
He looks duller than a doornail
And he's dressed like a greasy slob,
But he has an uber-grasp of mechanics
Fluid dynamics and electrical lore,
When you tell him he needs an enema
Why, he thinks he's going to score.

Little does he know, this night
Will pass with loads of gas,
From bed to toilet, and then again
To empty out his ass,
If you can find a correlation
Between mechanics, and the way of medicine,
Instead of cussing you out, at four-a.m.
He'll be singing the praises of Edison.

Fibril_late;
11/17/08