are driving me bats.

A lumbering leech eyeing docs.

He’s probably wearing red underwear

and black with a toe hole silk socks.

He nods and he squints like the inkling he had

is rapidly trickling away.

He knows in a minute he could look real bad,

unless he finds something to say.

His handlers creep up behind him.

His blood pressure’s right off the charts.

They might have to tether or bind him,

or subdue with medical darts.

Before he goes off on a blue bunny rant

or swears love to evil portenders,

they’ll give him a jolt that assures that he cant.

And now for a word from our vendors.