[gumbud’s visit-prat two]
She looked round at me in amusement
As I tried to stand whilst still dizzy;
Then said “Doctor?-who,me?
No,I make the tea;
But he should be here soon,he’s just busy!”
I hope Gumbud has not been Fingered.
Why do I feel the urge to listen to Fingal’s Cave.
They say it’s not much fun
When doctors look up your bum
To check what’s up there, and you standing bare
Sooner you than me, old chum.
Well isn’t it great that it’s all over you now Gumbud and you held your composure all through the procedure, all that prodding and probing would leave me feeling like a captured alien in area 51. Are you sure you came from Liverpool?
Good luck with the results.
Ok, I was fingered, but it was only once, never again, no more interference up my Penny Lane.
Oh,you say that NOW,spits…but you’ll realise too late she left the probe ‘up there’ only when you fart-and shoot the cat!
That last comment reminds me of an unusual encounter, when my dear uncle Vivian accidentally swallowed one of his glass eyes & it got stuck when he tried to pass it.
The GP upon discovering this eye staring back at him from Vivian’s rear exclaimed " You have to trust me, I’m a doctor"
And thus was born the “eyeball to eyeball encounter” I think with a bit of practice Uncle Vivian may have been able to teach the rear end eye to wink?
I think if you re-read the prose
There was never a finger up my ****
I had on my dacks, my pride intact
And gentle fingers caressed my pecs
And when she said get dressed I’m done
There never was a hand upon my bum!
The morale of this tale is clear
When female doctors come this near
Take one deep breath and do not fear
Breath in the nectar, close your eyes
Imagine you have scored first prize!
That’s all well and good Gummy, but, it is preferable for an encounter with a lady to be informal, sometimes a uniformal encounter in a formal situation, can cause White Coat Syndrome, but an encounter with a lady, uniformal, in an informal situation, can actually lower blood pressure.
Well to 96% of the body mass, give or take a couple of inches.
gumbud,m’main man,please,read,digest-and smile…
Methinks thou dost protest too hard
Afeared thy reputation be marred.
Worry not,this forun isn’t ‘iffy’
-we understand about thy stiffy!
Ay thaink you; Ay thaink you; Ay thaink you!
ps: are you calling me a stiff now ? RJ please deal with this malcreant swiftly!
Whilst I deplore the standard of grammar & spelling employed of late, I don’t feel able to comment on individual grievances , Gumbud dear boy.
I overlook any references to bodily parts & functions in the threads as I have a low tolerance of visceral matters or indeed bodily fluids.
I am still having nightmares over the phlegm sandwiches, an appalling suggestion.
TO change the subject somewhat I have been asked to devise a quiz for over 60’s. Have any of you gents ideas for inclusion.
thanks
What’s up with all the talk about stiffys. I can’t find it any where in my “Works of Shakespeare”
Well look harder…afer all,Yorick was a tad stiff!
RJ…how about ‘agricultural tractors through the ages’.
As in,see how many are remembered,recalled or sighed over?
Y’know,as in"Arrr,oi ‘membrrr t’warz raynin’…but we jerss keppon a-ploughin’through the thart heavy ol’ ground,an’ moi trusty ol Marrrrshal ‘Pom-Pom’ single,she just kep’ on a’ploughin; and agoin;no concerrrns regarrdin’ they muddy parrts,not in MOI day. Elfen safety? Oi’ve SHIT it!"…sort of thing?
oh…and please take note of the excellent and erudite etymological references ensconced and employed in the above-after all,the cerebal convolutions required for deformulative consideration of imponderables,designates a certain deficiency in one’s cogitational armament-would you not agree? Hmm?
Yes definitely -all of the above!
I was once told by a Herefordshire farmer friend of mine that one of the best ways of dealing with a difficult constipation problem was to sit on a good old massey ferguson tractor and plough a few fields the turn over rate was amazing - old trouble once ya had to keep alighting from said tractor and drop ya dacks!
Never buy a Tractor, one day you may become entrenched.
All the public loos have gone from here, years ago. Back in the 1950s & early 1960s there were loads of them and some of them were quite grand. Ornate little buildings, brick built with high ceilings. Excellent ceramic ware with full height privacy guards between each stall. There would be glossy painted ironworks , pillars & ball & claw ornamental pillars on the panels between the cubicles.
The admission charge of a penny was not expensive, but inconvenient if you hadn’t a coin of that denomination.
When I worked in the town centre there was a rather grand facility at the terminus bus stop. It was subterranean. This premises had the luxury of an assistant, lurking in a little office next to the stairway. Sometimes he might make light conversation , in a non threatening way.
“Nice out today innit guv”.
As the years passed the whole place went downhill and the convenience became a hub for other activities, drugs, homeless people, indecent behaviour.
I came across the attendant years after he retired and he confided in me that in the end if someone came in for a crap it was like a breath of fresh air.
There was an interesting post script to this bit of local history. The site was acquired by a poster company who planned to erect a huge hoarding on this corner site but when they demolished the building they discovered the Victorian workers who put up the building had vandalised a unique Anglo-Saxon burial plot directly below. The site immediately had a preservation order put on it which prevailed for years until the poster company eventually gave up the fight and very sportingly paid for the site to become a lovely scented garden.
How’s that for a happy ending?
Yes, I remember such subterranean premises, very ornate and indicative of a previous era, but, strangely threatening.
like you were descending into Hades perhaps?
A friends first experience of male ablutions in Thailand was as he stood gently peeing and enjoying the relief of off loading a full bladder a pair of hands firmly gripped his shoulders. Whirling around in astonishment and fright and spraying all in a circumference of at least 3 feet he came face to face with a rather startled elderly Thai gentleman who exclaimed “massage Sir”
[true story]