The Man with a Pen in His Arm who DIED of EXcruciating Pain! or Death due to Surgery or Pain - a poem

He strutted about with a pen in his arm,
Seeking to please, seeking to charm,
He was filled with the most exruciating pain,
He kept saying his name again and again.

We had to do surgery,
We tried it on whim,
With a great razor blade,
And a buffalo's fin.
We chopped off his hand
And stitched it anew,
Removed the instrument
With a ladle of glue.

The surgery worked,
Our work was complete,
His arm was as good
As a Pentagon fleet.
But he screamed in agony
And died in pain,
Shouting his name out
Again and again.

We couldn't solve the puzzle,
We had done everything right.
Why had this poor man,
Died in a fright?

The mystery however
Was very soon solved,
By an expert specialist,
A man who was bald.

"You see, my colleagues,
What he was screaming out loud,
Was not his own name,
Or the name of a game, nor was it,
The sound of an aeroplane
The only thing he was trying to explain
Was that you doctors were stupid, ridiculous ,pathetic,
And completely forgot the anesthetic.