The Botched Operation

He itched incessantly down under and let them rip, a bit of thunder. The quack said 'eat more fibre man', he answered 'I don't think I can.' Inside the doc's thick patient files he found the answer: 'you've got piles! The itching, leeding and the pain my diagnosis is quite plain.' The patient dropped his Wrangler jeans and warned the doc, 'I've eaten beans.' 'No matter, let me have a peak, Oh my, you have a little leak. We must perform an operation before I go on my vacation.' The moment came right then and there he had not really meant to share the gas explosion with aroma, the doctor hovered near a coma. A bit of sauce had also splattered which, to the doctor, surely mattered, the secretary now appeared exclaimed 'It's really what I feared.' She wrapped a Yankee-Doodle Nappy around his ass to keep them happy, the three now stood there in the room, the atmosphere approaching gloom. The patient yelled, 'that really smarts which can be said of all my farts.' The doc decided due to this that waiting would be quite remiss. They strapped him to the stainless trolly and now commenced to practice folly. They cut and sawed and snipped and tore things from his rearend corridor. A tub was placed to catch the lot and then they put him on a pot. And told him to remain until the nurse would give to him a pill. He sat upon the pot for hours and listened to the tepid showers that rained from his mistreated gut. And there he rested on his butt and fell asleep due to the lack - a sleeping hemophiliac. The doc had gone to grab a meal and taken his own sex appeal, the nurse whose well-starched uniform would trigger in his pants a storm. They dined Italian, lots of wine; as he tried out his latest line 'you are', he whispered, 'magnifique, compared to me, an old antique, ' and she placed her perspiring hands in his. A hint of small demands. The nurse, who was not dumb at all went to the bathroom in the hall. And as she sat to let it go she thought about the rapid flow and what she'd learned in nursing school. 'Oh dearest Jesus, I'm a fool! ' She rushed back to the big Mercedes (it was too far to go per pedes) , without her boss, and to the practice where she fell over the green cactus, but made it through the heavy door sweat pouring out from every pore. He sat, though slumped and very still, most likely waiting for his pill. She felt the pulse there on his head and then pronounced the patient dead. The doctor should have known that piles come often and in various styles. But there are those inside the gate and outer ones to compensate. The difference is striking though as any fool would likely know, internal ones might look like perves but have no hookup to those nerves. Therefore, they cannot itch or smart regardless whether crap or fart. Let this a lesson be, dear reader, a hemorrhoid can be a bleeder. But other, much more nasty things affect the common man and kings and may just bleed 'till kingdom come. I'd say the doctor was quite dumb.