I do a lot of work with thiol-ene polymers, so this poem, courtesy of Carbon-Based Curiosities is wonderful. A nicely framed copy will soon be adorning the walls of my lab.
O Captain! Mercaptan! Your fearful prep is done;
The lab has weathered every rot, the prize you sought is won;
The paper’s near, the lauds I hear, reviewers all exulting,
While follow nose the steady smell, aroma grim and daring,
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the taste of vomit up,
Where on the bench your thiol lies,
Smelling like a butt.
O Captain! Mercaptan! Wise up and fear the smells;
Wise up – for you alarms are rung – for you my stomach trills;
For you Febreze and freshen’d air – for you the lab a-cursng;
For you they call, the offended mass, their eager noses turning;
Here ‘captan! Dear product!
The cheese you must have cut;
It is no dream that on the bench,
You smell just like a butt.
The Captain does not answer, his face is pale and still,
My labmate does not feel my arm, just nauseated will;
The prize now anchored safe and sound, in the hood it’s closed and done;
With fearful zip, the victor skipped, away from object won;
Exult, O smells, and sing, “O hells!”
The stench, revulsive glut,
Walk not near hoods Mercaptans lie,
They smell just like a butt.