From: feckityfeck@gmail.com   
      
   Prof's mention of "Sultans of Swing" on FB the other day reminded me   
   that I've been meaning to finish this parody for months.   
      
   "Consultants At Ing" (Sultans of Swing)   
      
   You been a-working way past dark   
   Banking software, office park, caffeine time   
   Code to deliver, you try to compile everything   
   The linker's throwing errors, for the fourth time   
   Compile job's died -- server doesn't answer ping   
      
   Well now, you step inside but you don't see too many faces   
   Coming in to server room, to find the rack’s gone down   
   Smoke emission from backplane places   
   Blue screen warns: partition's not found   
      
   Disk farm's gone south   
   Disk farm's gone south, and powered down   
      
   You check out Punch Card George, he knows all the codes   
   But he's algorithms, he doesn't really have much code to sling   
   He got a broke spacebar on his old keyboard   
   When he wrote his code in FORTRAN, din't need that thing.   
      
   And Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't make in C   
   He's just a finance guy, his code's not so tight   
   But he can write Excel macros like anything   
   Exports it out, his peeps rewrite   
      
   With consultants   
   With consultants at Ing   
      
   And a crowd of code monkeys fooling around on their laptops   
   Punked or geek-chic with their soul patches as they chat COM MODE   
   They don't give a crap about any web e-commerce app   
   It ain't what they call writing code   
      
   The consultants   
   Yeah, consultants write Cobol... Cobol   
      
   Then the man, he digs right into the microcode   
   And says at last, just as the server pings   
   "Compiled! Now it's time to go home"   
   Overtime amassed, he thinks "cha-ching!"   
      
   "We are consultants --   
   We are consultants at Ing..."   
      
      
      
   Copyright (c) 2011 Doppelbock   
      
   --   
   *** ERROR: OUT OF BEER ***   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)