The Boob Poem

So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.

After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram.
“O.K,” I said, “let’s do it.”

“Stand up here real close” she said,
(She got my boob in line),
“And tell me when it hurts,” she said,
“Ah yes! Right there, that’s fine.”

She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter’s in a vise!

My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.

Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it’s vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!

“Take a deep breath” she said to me,
Who does she think she’s kidding?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.

“There, that’s good,” I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
“Now, let’s have a go at the other one.”
Have mercy, I was praying.

It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I’ll bet SHE’S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.

Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steamrolled.

If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone “ker-pow!”

This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I’d like to stick his balls in there,
And see how THEY come out.