The Botched Operation Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

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.