A man suffering from severe contstipation went to consult a doctor. The doctor prescribed a laxative. It did not work. When the man turned up again the next day to complain of the medicine’s ineffectiveness, the doctor prescribed a stronger medicine.
It had no effect either and the man turned up at the clinic again.
‘What do you do for a living?’ asked the doctor.
‘I am a poet. I write poetry,’ replied the man.
‘Your trouble is not constipation,’ said the doctor,’ there is nothing in your system to be evacuated. Take these coins and get something to eat.’
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