
Harry came into work on Monday feeling absolutely fine, and so was astonished
when his secretary urged him to lie down on the sofa; even more so when his
boss took one look at him and ordered him to take the day, if not the week,
off.  Even his poker buddies wouldn't have anything to do with him, insisting
that he go straight to bed.  Finally, tired of resisting everyone's advice,
he went to see his doctor, who took one look at him and rushed over with
a stretcher.
	"But doctor," he protested, "I feel fine."
Well, this was a puzzler, conceded the doctor, who proceeded to refer to the
enormous reference tomes behind his desk, muttering to himself.
	"Looks good, feels good...  No, you look like hell.  Looks good,
feels terrible...  Nah, you feel fine, right?"
Thumbing furiously through another volume, he said,
	"Looks terrible, feels terrible...  Nope, that won't do it either."
Finally, "Looks terrible, feels terrific... Aha!!  You're a vagina!"
