F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to Otterfox for shingling. PM me with a new slut sposa please. Meanwhilst...
Otterfox 3
Gappy 2
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwh 1
Next natterjerk: Sick
Leg closed: 8.4.21
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 3 Otterfox
2 2 Gappy
3 1 Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwh
GINA: Hello, and welcome once again to Buzz Clinic, the show where we introduce you to sufferers from unusual medical conditions, and prove that they're not just hilarious. With me tonight I have Jacob; hello, Jacob.
JACOB: Thank you for having me here to discuss my condition, I'm as happy as.
GINA: And would you like to tell us about your condition?
JACOB: Hey, it's your show, so...
GINA: Well now, Jacob here has Phalp Sclappet's disease, meaning that he is sadly incapable of completing a sentence. Tell me, Jacob, how did it feel when you were first diagnosed?
JACOB: Gina, I was like...whoah!
GINA: And how did the doctor - a trailblazing physician from Missouri who had taken an interest in Jacob's case - break the news?
JACOB: You see, Gina, he told me about the diagnosis, and he said, sort of, this disease won't hurt you, but...
GINA: And...?
JACOB: He said the problem probably started when my twin died, and I just felt totally...phhrrrp
GINA: And then he said?
JACOB: It's phenomenally contagious, and you should probably not leave the house or come within five feet of anyone or...blah de blah, and...
GINA: Ah, that's quite a, erm....
JACOB: So, yeah, you should probably not have invited me here because [SQUEAKY NOISE THAT MIGHT ACCOMPANY A FINGER ACROSS THE THROAT GESTURE]
GINA: [WORRIED] Right, OK, this is....is there anybody who can, um...?
JACOB: Has it started to...?
GINA: I dunno, I feel kind of...bleugh...
JACOB: Oh, yes, that is one of the primary.
GINA: One of the primary...?
JACOB: Exactly, it's awful, I can't even.
GINA: Oh my God, so if you have it, and you're here, then I..?
JACOB: Correct, yes you.
GINA: That is absolutely. Well, that just about wraps it up for. Join us next week for another edition of. [SAY THIS AS IF IT'S "GOODNIGHT" CUT OFF EARLY] Good.
DIRECTOR: OK, that's episode 7 done, positions people for episode 8 and we're on in 5, 4, 3 [SIGNS 2 and 1 WITH FINGERS]
Val and June
"He's sick ya know."
Scene 1 Ext./ day
Set: At the garden fence
JUNE; Hiya Val you okay?
VAL; Aye lass, not bad
JUNE; Trev had his jab yet?
VAL; He has, last night
JUNE; Last night? I didn't know the vaccination centre was open late?
VAL; A jab off me for farting in bed
JUNE; (Covers her mouth to stifle a laugh)
Oh Val, you are funny
VAL; (Thumbing back to the house)
Don't know why they bothered vaccinating him. Let's be honest no virus is going to stay very
long in his body. He was once bitten by a Tsetse fly and the chuffin' fly fell asleep
JUNE; (Laughing) Don't Val luv I'm holding on to mi waters here
VAL; As your Ted gone back then?
JUNE; Oh yeah, he went back Monday
VAL; Good for you. I blame that rusty knacker for extending furlough
JUNE; Rishi Sunak (Giggles)
VAL; I reckon Trev's work's don' t want him back. He's sick ya know
JUNE; (Concerned) Sick?
VAL; Aye, complaining he's got headaches and dizziness
JUNE; Vertigo?
VAL; Cancer
JUNE; Oh how awful for you Val I'm so sorry
VAL; Me too, I hate it that he shares the same star sign as mi self
JUNE; (Chuckles) Oh I see.
VAL; He missed out on being a Leo by one chuffin' day he did
JUNE; Such a shame Val luv he could have been a lion!
VAL; Oh he's a lion alright lying on the chuffin' settee all day
JUNE; (Laughs) Oh you are funny, Val
VAL; Aye well, I have to be a Stand-Up-Comedian living with him. He's having surgery next week
to remove the settee from his back.
JUNE; (Laughing) Oh well at least the cases are coming down, Val?
VAL; They are lass, tonight, I'm leaving him, I'm going to mi mother's
MAN: So, how are you feeling, boy?
BOY: (shudders)
MAN: Not too good, eh? How's the grub, reckon you can keep that down?
BOY: I... think so.
MAN: Can't be all that bad then! A solid 3 out of 5, would you say?
BOY: I guess.
MAN: OK then! Kebab Mansion - 3 out of 5. Now, how about a bit of spag bol, reckon you can force some down?
BOY: No, please.
MAN: Oh, come on. Here comes the aeroplane...
BOY: (chewing noises)
MAN: Mmm, you seem to be polishing that right off. Now, how's that sitting in the old tum-tum?
BOY: (chunders)
MAN: Oooh, nasty. I'll put that down as a 2.
FX: PHONE RINGS
MAN: Hello, food standards agency? Oh, hi Jeffrey. Yes, just putting the new work experience boy through his paces - you're really getting into the swing of things, aren't you lad?
BOY: (groans)
MAN: Good boy. Looks like we'll be needing the other bucket. Yes, he's doing well - exquisitely sensitive insides, exactly what we've been scouting for -
BOY: (vomits)
MAN: I know, not like old iron stomach here, I wouldn't know E. coli from a spot of Salmonella these days.
BOY: (coughing fit)
MAN: Yes yes, get it all up. So, Jeffrey, see you at the Savoy tonight? I know, fool's errand really, they're just too damned clever for us, but we'd better put them through their paces all the same. Anyway, toodles! Now, how you doing, boy? Boy?
BOY: (weakly) Please kill me... Urrgh.
MAN: Yes! Finally we've got you, Pesto Bungalow! I knew you were harbouring Ebola!
When I was young we were so poor we could only afford oneberculoses
COVID
(tune: Zombie, Cranberries)
Self-isolation is like prison. But the sex isn't as good.
Another dead lung, blow me
Piles and glowing pharynx
And the violet sores, such measles
You and me got Covid
But you see, it's not glee, it's got my family
In your legs, in your bed, spend all night in
With no thanks, and you're numb, in your tum, and your bum
In your shed, in your bed, Covid 19
In your shed, in your bed
Covid, Covid, Covi-i-id
You're in your shed, in your bed
Covid, Covid, Covi-i-id, oh
A bloody nother breakout
Heart is taken over
And the violet sores, such measles
You and me got Covid
It's the blame on me, it's Covid nineteen
In your legs, in your bed, spend all night in
With no thanks, and you're numb, in your tum, and your bum
In your shed, in your bed, Covid 19
In your shed, in your bed
Covid, Covid, Covi-i-id
You're in your shed, in your bed
Covid, Covid, Covi-i-id, oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, eh-eh-oh, ra-ra
KEN SPECK(GRUFF) IS IN A DOCTORS SURGERY SPEAKS WITH THE DOCTOR.
KEN:
.....,What kind of an idiot are you? Of course I'm sure I wasn't always like this. I've got seven thousand and ninety four spots on my body!
DOC:
It's just that they look old.
KEN:
How can spots look old!? What's on that report you're reading? How come your surgery is four floors up, I hate stairs!
DOC:
You could have taken the elevator.
KEN:
Uuh, elevators are not much better, if not, not much worse. How come your window is so big? This is crap. Fix me!
DOC:
Have you been around wild animals recently?
KEN:
Depends. Why?
DOC:
Because you've got the pox Mr.Speck.
KEN:
Small or chicken?
DOC:
Small, chicken, pandapox, monkeypox, crowpox, acne, rash, ringworm, measles, foals toe, penalty spots and face piles. To be honest you're utterly disgusting.
THE DOCTOR BRINGS OUT A CHART.
DOC(CNTD):
Looking at the disgustment chart here Mr. Speck we can see that you are right off the radar. Quite a way past deplorably rotten.
KEN:
Listen you dick, you better sort this out and don't mention any animals again or I'll nail your head to your shin, got it!? Now shit-head tell me what the hell is happening to me?
DOC:
Well your test results are back. Here we are...you're a, you're a prick Mr. Speck. Yes I'm afraid there is little doubt; you are a complete and absolute prick.
KEN:
In the medical sense or in a derogatory sense? 'Cos if it's derogatory i'll....
DOC:
Kick my teeth out through my eyes, fill my ears with firelighters and throw me into a volcano. This is the type of prickness to which I refer. You are a prick in every way that one can be a prick Mr. Speck, be it medical, derogatorily, socially, subconsciously, physically, preternaturally, verbally, orally or aurally.
KEN:
Give it to me straight!
DOC:
I thought I just did but here we go. You are an utterly horrendous human being in every conceivable way. You have had countless..ahem...liaisons with all manner of beasts and your litany of diseases is the consequence.
KEN IS NOW SEETHING WITH RAGE.
DOC:
Please leave before you burst all over my surgery.
KEN:
Burst you up more like!
KEN STEPS FORWARD OMINOUSLY. THE DOCTOR PRODUCES A STEP OF A STAIRS. KEN SCREAMS AND RUNS OUT THE DOOR. WE HEAR AN EXPLOSION.
DOC SWIVELS AROUND IN HIS CHAIR NONCHALANTLY.
DOC:
What-a-prick.
END.
A DUSTY DRAWING ROOM IN A GENTLEMAN'S CLUB. TWO DISTINGUISHED MEN IN THEIR 60'S ARE SITTING IN A PAIR OF COMFORTABLE ARMCHAIRS IN FRONT OF A RAGING FIRE. EACH HOLD HEAVY BRANDY GLASSES.
Mr JAMES: I miss having my after diner 'Fat Cuban'.
Mr SCOTT: Ahhh, a 'Romeo and Juliet' for me. What was wrong with the odd cigar?
Mr JAMES: It's the nanny state gone mad.
A WAITER APPROACHES.
WAITER: Excuse me Doctors, would either of you like anything from the bar before it closes?
Mr SCOTT: For the sake of exposition man! We are both consultants and should be referred to as Mr, not doctor.
Mr JAMES: He knows, he is just winding you up. Two more Brandy's please Tommy.
WAITER: Certainly,... Mr and Mr.
THE WAITER TURNS AND WALKS OFF
Mr SCOTT: Damned cheek! (BEAT) Tommy? Is he the appendix?
Mr JAMES: Yes.
Mr SCOTT: The one you accidentally left the Fitbit your wife gave you in?
Mr JAMES: I assure it was no accident. She monitors my fitbit performance avidly. She has never been so impressed with my fitness since Tommy started doing all my exercising for me.
Mr SCOTT: I could always write you a prescription for a cigar?
Mr JAMES: One daily, to be smoked in front of a roaring fire after a fine meal. Why not? After all they write prescriptions for booze for alcohol addicts.
Mr SCOTT: I wrote a prescription for Williams.
Mr JAMES: Did it work?
Mr SCOTT: They barred him.
Mr JAMES: Barred him?
Mr SCOTT: Yes, mind you it wasn't a cigar in the drawing room, it was a prostitute in the foyer.
Mr JAMES: Fair play. He's a character alright, Mr Williams.
Mr SCOTT: No, it was Doctor Williams, not Mr Williams.
Mr JAMES: Doctor Williams? The dirty bastard.
THE WAITER RETURNS AND PUTS TWO BRANDIES ON THE TABLE. THEN LEAVES.
Mr SCOTT: Looks like there is something in your glass.
Mr JAMES PICKS UP THE GLASS AND EXAMINES IT
Mr JAMES: A fitbit.
Mr SCOTT: Yours?
Mr JAMES: I had noticed Tommy was doing a lot of exercise in my bed room whilst i was at work. I guess my wife noticed it too.
Mr SCOTT: But how...
Mr JAMES: My wife is an excellent fister.
(PAUSE)
Mr SCOTT: Where were we?
Mr JAMES: You were just about to tell me about the strangest case you ever had.
Mr SCOTT: Usual rules? Best story wins, loser pays for dinner?
Mr JAMES: Sounds good.
Mr SCOTT: Yes, the strange case of the Government's scientist. He had apparently been working on quantum anomalies on some hush hush program at Porton Down.
Mr JAMES: Porton Down, good start.
Mr SCOTT: He was brought into A&E complaining that he had accidentally ingested some sort of toxic fluid possibly from a crashed alien space craft.
Mr JAMES: What happened?
Mr SCOTT: That night when the fluid reached his rectum it opened some sort of time portal. He started emptying his bowels and just didn't stop. Every motion he was destined to excrete during his entire life, past present and future poured out of his anal time tunnel. We found him the next day in his room, an emaciated husk under a six foot pile of steaming crap.
Mr JAMES: A remarkable story. But not a unique one I am afraid.
Mr SCOTT: What?
Mr JAMES: A few years back a young man presented himself at my clinic with a story of how he had been accosted in the street by some wizened old crone, who demanded money from him, in return for being told his fortune. He informed her he had no interest in such nonsense and pushed his way past her.
(PAUSE)
Mr SCOTT: Well? What happened.
Mr JAMES: The Crone shouted after him, issuing some kind of fearful curse. He described how he thought nothing of it at the time but over the intervening hours he had convinced himself all was not right with his large colon...
Mr SCOTT: Don't tell me, you told him he had a crack in his arse? Come on James you are just about to copy my bloody story.
Mr JAMES: With one important difference! I agreed to examine him to put his mind at rest, then right there in front of my eyes, the young man's anus formed itself into a temporal vortex.
Mr SCOTT: Foul! I cry foul!
Mr JAMES: Only instead of the commonplace excrement excreting variety this was an as yet undiscovered rectal reversing 'brown hole'. Something only Stephen Hawking had predicted.
Mr SCOTT: Oh, nice touch.
Mr JAMES: Helplessly, I watched, as over the next thirty minutes every turd the Man had ever passed magically returned and forced entry back up from whence it had initially emerged. Like a shoal of smelly brown salmon swimming upstream returning home to their source...
Mr SCOTT: Enough you win dammit. What happened to the chap?
Mr JAMES: When he was totally full of shit?
Mr SCOTT: Yes, did he die?
Mr JAMES: No, he changed his name to Piers Morgan and went on the telly.
Like necrophilia, lots of late entries. All good but going for Otterfox this wank.
In think I have to vote Playfull, for something so very long and so very disgusting. Merging the techniques of Michael and Otterfox is intriguing (but, I'm not sure I'd like to see it done again, in all honesty).
Pedant's note: not all consultants have the title Mr: consultant surgeons do, but not consultant medics.
Nice to read so many entries and see such differences. I might be over thinking this but i am going for Gappy's because i think it had the strongest idea. (no, not because he voted for me) though i nearly didn't because i don't get the ending. Or is that the point? There is no ending?
BTW the next time i see my non surgical consultant i will tell him he is wrong...(edit) I would just like to make it clear that is me trying to be funny, not me trying to be arsey. This is what happens when you refuse to use emojis!
Hiya, my vote goes to Playfull ;-)
Otterfox for me
I'll go for Gappy - addresses some of my irritation with people mangling the language to be cute, in a far more tolerant way than I would have managed. No issues with the ending.
Michael - I always appreciate a song parody that actually scans, but what's with all the sheds?
It rhymes.