A test for being drunk
A police officer pulls over this guy who had been weaving in and out of the lanes.

He goes up to the guy's window and says, "Sir, I need you to blow into this breathalyzer tube."

The man says, "Sorry officer I can't do that. I am an asthmatic. If I do that I'll have a really bad asthma attack."

"Okay, fine. I need you to come down to the station to give a blood sample." "I can't do that either. I am a hemophiliac. If I do that, I'll bleed to death."

"Well, then we need a urine sample."

"I'm sorry officer I can't do that either. I am also a diabetic. If I do that I'll get really low blood sugar."

"Alright then I need you to come out here and walk this white line."

"I can't do that, officer."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm too drunk to do that!"

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.