Fidel Gastro’s

Send the kid’s to bed; daddy’s coming home loaded.

too much lash. Restart of site to come soon.

On the way back from Cambridge this weekend (following a week of hard lash and work floor), I spotted a dentist practice in small town of Royston. However a branch was obscuring the sign and what was meant to read ‘THE DENTAL SURGERY’ actually read ‘THE DENIAL SURGERY’

I was like ‘What the hell is a denial surgery?’ then thought ‘my lord, this could revolutionise the NHS as we see it today’. Imagine getting your arm trapped in some kind of Victorian weaving or threshing machine. It’s half ripped off, pointing in the wrong direction and you can see the bone popping out. You stumble to your local Denial Surgery and mumble

‘God help me,my fricking arm please save it, I’m dying..’
The doctor looks at you and says
‘No you’re not’.
‘But, but I’m bleeding everywhere and it’s really really hurts’.
‘No it doesn’t’
‘Oh. Maybe it’s doesn’t. Wow you’re really good. How can I repay you?’
‘500 quid. Cash’
‘But I have BUPA’
‘No you don’t’
‘Maybe I don’t’

And I can imagine the number of deaths per hosptial plummeting, leaving league tables in tatters.

‘Oh God Doctor, tell me, is my husband dead?’
‘No. You’re husband is asleep’.
‘But he’s cold and clammy; and he smells bad’
‘No he’s just asleep, he’s very, very tired’
‘Mmh, ok. Can I take him home?’
‘Yes, just give him plenty of fluids and regular exercise. Next.’