Put that finger there and we will never speak again
I went to see the doctor yesterday.
“Howya, Doc” says I.
“Howya, Grandad. Are ya well?” says he, which is a weird question from a doctor. Is he hoping that I am, or that I’m not?
“Grand.” says I “Just here for the 10,000 mile service.”
So he poked me and prodded me and we talked about this and that. He listened to various parts of me, but not what I was saying. I’m used to that.
Blood pressure – normal. Heart – normal. Lungs – normal [Yup! I can carry on puffing away]. Teeth – none. Hearing – brilliant [apart from the tinnitus]. All in all, he reckons I’m good for a few miles yet.
Then he put on a rubber glove and started talking about Prostates.
Jayzus! I was across the floor and standing splayed with my back to the wall before I knew it. I’m not having anyone poking around there. There are limits to my friendships. How can you greet a bloke in the village when he’s had his finger up your arse?
“Relax” says he. “I’m just going to take some blood.”
He did. About a gallon. It left me feeling quite drained, but I don’t mind.
He asked me then about the Tourist Shooting, and how it was going. It transpired that he wanted to join up. This was great news as this means that the only non member in the village now is the grave digger. He’s too busy to join.
“What about the Hippocratic Oath?” says I.
We pondered this for a few minutes, but we decided it only applied to patients. And by definition, a tourist isn’t a patient. So I signed him up.
We’re going hunting next week.
But I’m going to make damn sure he is some distance away from me when I go squatting in the undergrowth.
Good recruiting decision, Grandad!
Any hunting party needs a doctor in their midst. Just imagine if any of the tourists has a gone or starts throwing stones or (God forbid!) bites poor Sandy.
You’ll be glad to have a medical professional in handy proximity then.
As per yar neither regions – I refuse to discuss those matters. Me being a lady and all.
I thought so too. We have quite a few injuries on the expeditions, but it’s usually scratches from brambles and things. The tourists rarely get a chance to retaliate.
As for my nether regions – I refuse to discuss them too.
A Doctor! Well what kind of rifle will he need? Maybe something small and snappy for quick target acquisition or some something a bit heavier for long distance accuracy? Being a doc and all he can most likely afford a nice stock made of some exotic South American tulip wood or maybe even zebra wood. I shall also need to know if he is right or left handed. Please have him call and the staff shall make sure he gets the exact rifle needed.
Munitions-R-Us, llc, plc, bfd
Brianf – Right handed, judging by the latex glove. I’ll tell him to get in touch.
Is this the doctor who has a sign in his office that says…
“TO SAVE TIME, PLEASE BACK IN.’
No. But I get very worried when he asks me to ‘open wide’!
I have quite an extensive range of hunting hides if you’re interested. Some are made to blend in with tour buses – great for bagging American tourists. Another looks like a free-blood-pressure-tests-today tent – It might suit the doctor – his normal garb would do for camouflage.
Fingers (and legs) crossed that blood test comes back normal then!
When I broke my tailbone a few years ago, that happened me too.
Join the Brotherhood of the Violated.
It’s OK, Sneezy. I told him to come in his usual garb. The blood spatters and stains will blend in well with the autumn colouring.
Steph – They will come back and will show a marked deficiency in alcohol and nicotine. [At least, that’s what I bribed him to find].
Daz – He never actually did the deed. I’m afraid I’m not a member of the BoV [unless you count that time with the Christian Brother when I was seven?]
I don’t know why you blokes get so precious about a little rubber glovage . . .we sheilas get poked and prodded for the best part of 30 years on an annual basis. Just smile (or grimace) and think of Ireland!
Oh Baino my dear CarT,
Shielas enjoy being plooked as much as we enjoy plooking them.
Geez! There is NO comparison to plooking and the doctor wieled rubber glove!
When I was diagnosed with colon cancer and the Doc snapped that rubber glove. I turned to her and said, “That horse hockey is NOT happenin’ Doc! I don’t care how many degrees you have!”.
Baino – I spent a long time trying to word my response in as delicate a manner as possible [trying to avoid such words as ‘poker’ and ‘pokee’], but fortunately Brianf got in before me.
My reference gentlemen was gyneocological . . . not THAT sort of poke! (although plooking is a new one on me) Believe me, it’s far from enjoyable! What on earth is a CarT? No don’t answer that for fear it’s a spelling error.