Frida goes to a doctor with rhythm.
|The doctor looked her in the eye and said…
Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp?
Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong?
Then Frida G. Fine answered, countenance red,
“The hell you say! Surely you jest!”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” Doctor Ooh-Ma-Ma
gushed with chide, his stethoscope in dangle,
his eyes so wide they touched his nose.
“Tut, tut, my dear Ooh-Ma-Ma,” opined Fine,
“I said surely, not Shirley, but let’s speak no
further of it—I’m glad to see we’ve differences.”
“Vive la différence!” Ooh-Ma-Ma piped.
“Yes, well at any rate, now that the singing
is over, tell me, Doctor, how am I doing?”
“You are fine,” and Ooh-Ma-Ma did a little dance.
“I know I am Fine, but what…” Then Frida stopped
short, fearing a descent into an Abbot and Costello skit.
Doctor Ooh-Ma-Ma eyed her narrowly, grinned like a
satyr, then with a burst of energy proclaimed,
“You’re Frida it! The cancer…you’re Frida it!”
Frida pushed back long, black hair and
pressed thin raspberry lips to where her face
just stopped. “Tsk, Tsk, Doctor. Oh, Ooh-Ma-Ma,
Ooh-Ma-Ma, puns do come with inherent flaw.”
So Ooh-Ma-Ma readied a large hypodermic
and Frida G. Fine all at once started squirming.
Then Doctor Ooh-Ma-Ma turned out the lights
but Frida objected—she wanted to know, why?
wherein the doctor referred to, A Shot in the Dark.
“You really got me, doctor! You really got me going!”
Once again Ooh-Ma-Ma looked her in the eye:
“Okay doctor, I’ll admit it. You put the bomp in the
bomp bah bomp, Ooh-Ma, you put the ram
in the rama lama, Ma-Ma! “