So I’m not sure who the original author is, but apparently this was found on a 3×5 card in a resident room in some hospital. The person must have been bored during his/her surgery rotation. Enjoy!

Fuck Surgery – By: Anonymous
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Fuck surgery.
The hours murder me.
No one here’s concerned with me,
and no one says a word to me.
And all I do here is waste my time.
I stand around and don’t say shit like a motherfuckin’ mime.
I get up all early for no fucking reason.
When it comes to my will to live, it’s like it’s open season.
Cause I wanna die like every fucking day.
Please someone shoot my ass to take the pain away.
But that thought makes me nervous,
cause I’d hate to end up a patient on my own fucking service.
Cause don’t I already spend enough time here?
Damn, I need a beer.
And how come these guys never wanna go home to fuck their wife?
Please Lord, don’t let me be a surgeon and waste my whole fuckin’ life.
I ask why I am here, but I never get an answer.
That shit gives me visceral pain like pancreatic cancer.
I look for good reasons, but I can never find ‘em.
That shit is about to kill me like a widened mediastinum.
Here we go again, rushing to the OR quick.
This has got to be some kinda trick.
Cause doing nothing makes me sick.
And I’ve been standing in this surgery 10 hours now, holding my dick.
And does it get any worse,
than that bitchy scrub nurse?
Yes, bitch, I got the fucking gown.
And I got my gloves too, you need to settle down.
And don’t tell me shit about no sterile technique,
I’ll look in your direction if I want you to speak.
I don’t know why you think this job really rocks,
but talk shit and I’ll slap you back to your old job at Jack-In-The-Box.
And these residents, they got me trippin’ too.
Just let me go home, man, you act like I got nothing better to do.
If it’s past 6:30, and I am still here, you are not my homey.
And I’m telling you right now: I have seen my last lap chole.
If you want me to scrub, you can blow me,
and if you think I give a shit, clearly you don’t know me.
And the way you’re acting like you’re the boss,
that shit’s got me at a loss.
Cause you’re just a resident.
You musta forgot what that meant.
That means you’re not the attending,
so stop pretending.
You talk a lotta shit, always running your mouth,
but I can see you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
And if you try to pimp me again on stupid surgical devices,
I’ll put yo’ fuckin’ lights out like an energy crisis.
But the chiefs have got to be the worst.
I’m down to get outta here even if it’s in the back of a hearse.
One guy goes as far as to even salt my game.
Tells me to stop chatting with the cute nurses when I’m working a
number and a name,
The other chief ain’t seen something he didn’t think was edible.
And I swear that fat motherfucker looks like the villain from The Incredibles.
On surgery, why is every day the worst day of my life?
Why do I feel this rotation has become my wife?
Why am I so full of strife?
Why do I have sick fantasies of stabbing y’all in the neck with a knife?
Oh, I know why: cause you took my Thanksgiving.
For that, when it comes to beating your ass, I will have no misgivings.
For this, there will be no forgiving.
Now my Thanksgiving dinner will be McDonalds and a six-pack of beer.
I’ll be laying back drunk and alone, asking how the fuck I ended up here.
Isn’t that pathetic?
I’m pissed off like I was on three different diuretics.
I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself.
But ah, fuck it man, I gotta quit this bullshit and study for my shelf.