Here ya go Richard,
the poem sucks, but I think I got all the words in...
"Good morning, Mr Failinghealth,
and how are you today?"
"I'm feelin' bloody awful, Doc,
I hate to feel this way."
"Well then, good sir, describe for me,
the pain, and where it's at;
I'll then decide what best to do
'bout quickly fixing that."
Well, I've got a bloody earache
and my lower lip's quite sore;
the pain extends right to my gums,
I can hardly move my jaw.
There's this fairly general sort of ache
because I stubbed my toe
and my gut's so big, I couldn't bend
to check it out, you know?
My testicles are burning
(I spilled coffee on my lap),
I jumped up, slipped, and hurt my hip
now I'm feeling like a sap!
To top it off, my left arm throbs
from lifting a beer keg
and I've got this phantom itch
that runs down my wooden leg!
I'll tell the truth 'cos I don't like fibs,
there's something in my eye
plus the missus poked me in the ribs
and I'm too friggin' scared to cry!
So, what do you think is wrong with me, what's your diagnosis?
Is it good, bad or indifferent, do I get a doomsday warning?"
You've got a terminal case of hypochondriac neurosis,
so take two tylenol; if pain persists, come see me in the morning."
HB
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