A story behind a gun
Big Louie the Torpedo was becoming increasingly curious about one of the newer members of his mob, Benny the Rod. Benny had been in the business for many years in another part of the country. During that time he had garnered quite a reputation for being the most conscientious and honorable hit man available. He was also considered quite eccentric, perhaps odd, in that for the last ten years or so he always kept one hand in his pocket - clutching his cold steel weapon in readiness (hence the nickname, Benny the Rod).

When Benny arrived at Louie's office, the question was put to him.

"So what's the story with you and this here gun of yours, eh? Like, are you scared or somethin' or you just want to always be ready or what?"

"Not scared ..." Benny growled, "been doin' it dis way ever since me sister-in-law's weddin' 'bout ten ten years ago now".

"Oh yeah? ... so ...?"

"Well, I used ta know her fiance at da time - a no good chisler. He never even loved the goil so much ... but he made her happy and so I kept me mouth shut about it", Benny explained.

Louie leaned in, expecting the point of the matter.

"And since dat time I gotta do it dis way".

"But WHY?!", Louie finally demanded?

"Well, I was at da wedding", grumbled Benny, and I wasn't about to say nuttin' about it then, so now I gotta do like da preacher said ...

"Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Piece!"

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.