Sunday, July 24, 2011

Helicobacter Pylori. (A study in blame)


Helicobacter Pylori, you tentacled slithering swine.
You’ve had lots of fun, but now your time’s done,
in this duodenum of mine.
You’ve wriggled and rampaged, and taken advantage
to give my poor innards a roasting.
A terrible way, I will say if I may,
to repay, my most generous hosting.

You first gave me gut rot, when I was a wee tot,
that loved to go in rooting in drains.
For decades I’ve writhed, as you’ve burrowed and strived,
to visit on me, awful pains.
A fortune I’ve spent on, acidic prevention,
unaware, of infection by worms.
Intimate relations, of quite some duration,
and not even on first name terms.

My days have been crippled by ulcers and cramps.
Most debilitating, it’s true.
I'd be in Halls of Fame, with the champs,
if I hadn’t been lumbered with you.
I’d have nutmegged George Best, and pissed past the rest,
and lifted the cup for the Rovers.
But I’ve only been fit, to lie down smoking shit,
burning potholes, in my new pullovers.

You have impaired my love life, or so I am told,
though I haven’t had many complaints.
Oh what a Lothario, I might have been,
if not handicapped by your taints.
You’ve caused punctuations, in bedroom gyrations,
that I will not miss on our parting.
An amplification, of audio gastration,
with excessive belching and farting.

My fondness for boozing was not of my choosing,
the medical team now have found,
that a gut full of ale was a tactic I used,
to dull you, so’s I could sleep sound.
You’ve stayed bloody sloshed, on the loot that I’ve sploshed,
and never once paid for a round.
I’d be stinking rich, but for you, you vile bitch.
You have screwed me for many a pound.

But now it’s all over and I am in clover,
to you the death blow has been dealt.
I’m hoping somehow as you passed through my ass,
that you found out, just how I have felt!
So science has triumphed, and antibiotics
have settled you, to my delight.
With one loud ‘Hooray!’ I have flushed you away.
Begone! Evil dread, parasite.

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