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.

Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole...
Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole for what seemed like forever. He'd waggle, look down, look up, but never start his backswing. Finally David, his playing partner, asked, "Why on Earth are you takingso long to make this shot?""My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse, and I want to make this shot a good one," said Bob."Good Lord," said David, "you haven't got a chance of hitting her from here."