There was this nervous patient whose imagination afflicts them with all kinds of ills which never materialize. one afternoon he staggered into the house. He was bent forward. He was bent forward. he tottered to a chair, and still curled into a half-moon shape, dropped into it. "Mary," he gasped, "it's come at last. There was no warning. All of a sudden I found I couldn't straighten up. I can't lift my head."
When the doctor had arrived and looked over the patient, the wife inquired, "Is there any hope?"
"Well," the doctor said, "it will help a good deal if he will unhitch the third buttonhole of his vest from the top button of his trousers."