A WOMAN'S POEM:
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.
A MAN'S POEM:
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with big t*ts who owns a bar on a golf course, and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a sh*t.
Those of us who spend much time in a doctor's office should appreciate this! Doesn't it seem more and more that physicians are running their practices like an assembly line? Here's what happened to Bubba:
Bubba walked into a doctor's office and the receptionist asked him what he had.
Bubba said: 'Shingles.' So she wrote down his name, address, medical insurance number and told him to have a seat.
Fifteen minutes later a nurse's aide came out and asked Bubba what he had...
Bubba said, 'Shingles.' So she wrote down his height, weight, a complete medical history and told Bubba to wait in the examining room.
A half hour later a nurse came in and asked Bubba what he had.
Bubba said, 'Shingles..' So the nurse gave Bubba a blood test, a blood pressure test, an electrocardiogram, and told Bubba to take off all his clothes and wait for the doctor.
An hour later the doctor came in and found Bubba sitting patiently in the nude and asked Bubba what he had.
Bubba said, 'Shingles.' The doctor asked, 'Where?'