A final diagnosis
Thought I'd let my doctor check me,
'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is old age.

Air Heads
Poor Jim is killed in a Boston automobile accident, but happily he goes to heaven where he gets to meet God and asks God if he can ask him a few questions.

"Sure. Go right ahead," says the Almighty.

"OK," Jim says, "Why did you make women so pretty?"

"So you would like them," God replies.

"All right then," Jim nods, "but come you made them so nice and soft and curvey?"

"So you would LOVE them," God replies.

Jim ponders a moment and then asks, "But why did you make them such air heads?"

God replies, "So THEY would love YOU!"