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.

Any Last Words?
There was an Englishman, an Irishman, and a Scotsman, who were going to be shot.

On the day of the executions, they take the Scotsman outside.

"Any last words?", they asked.

He yelled "Earthquake!" and whilst the firing squad were running about in a panic, he climbed the wall and got away.

The Englishman, seeing this, thought he'd try it, so when his turn came.

He shouted "Flood!", and similarly escaped in the ensuing confusion.

The Irishman thought this was a good plan, too so when they asked him for his last words, he yelled "Fire!"