Gone With the Wind

Mrs Trafer, in need of assistance, attended her surgery hence; stricken by swelling of stomach and critically vile flatulence. She cleared the waiting room swiftly, as her wind drummed a tune on the chair; from potential of asphyxiation she soon was the only one there. Her doctor, he listened in silence as her grim tale of woe was begun; each work punctuated by rasping after making it's way off her tongue. After several minutes duration, the doc bade her take off her clothes; she lay on his couch, her behind hot and bare wreaking hideous offence to his nose. The doc said: "I sure see your problem, I think I have just what we need." He left then returned with long pole and hook, his expression contorted and weird. Mrs Trafer, she shrieked in abhorrence, let rip with a volley of air: "You're not touching me with that dirty great thing, whoever you are, I don't care!" "This isn't for you," said the medic. "Dear lady, I beg, have no fear. This device is to open a window for it stinks to high heaven in here!"