Delicate
ops with
tweezers
I FIND myself at the Irish Tavern in Florida Road in the company of a think tank of hearties who meet there regularly to discuss serious matters and the ways of the world, most of them through the dangerously distorted prism of College Rovers rugby.
Among our number is a Kiwi who once played first five-eighths (what we would call flyhalf). He tells a harrowing tale of a car accident in which he was involved back in his home country, on the road to Rotorua.
The vehicle rolled and, in the ensuing bumping and confusion, he got flung through the windscreen, bottom first.
The story ends with his girlfriend's mother having to painstakingly pick splinters of glass from his rear-end with tweezers, insisting she should do it, not her daughter, because that would be unseemly.
It rings a bell, recalling a guinea fowl shoot outside Estcourt, here in KZN. The fellows had been blazing away at the birds all day, but this one duffer had not managed to hit a thing. His bag was empty.
Quaffing a few beers afterwards, they were ragging him about it. Things became a little heated.
"I tell you what," said one bloke. "I bet if I bend over a hundred paces away, you couldn't hit me up the backside." At which he marched off a hundred paces, bent over and presented his ample bottom.
Somebody handed the other fellow a loaded shotgun. What they didn't tell him was that they'd removed the shot from the cartridges in the breech. This was going to be a good joke.
The fellow took the shotgun, opened it and took a peek at the cartridges. Buckshot. A bit drastic, he thought, so he replaced them with birdshot cartridges from his own belt.
Blam! Blam! Both barrels.
That evening the nurses at the local hospital took it in shifts removing birdshot from the bloke's posterior, using tweezers. They worked until late in the night.
Strong nerves these nurses have. They have a story to tell.
ZZZZZ
OVERHEARD in the Street Shelter for the Over-Forties: "Why do female spiders kill their males after mating? To stop the snoring before it begins."
Prison break-in
A CAT burglar broke into a prison in England but then got stranded on a high razor-wire internal fence and had to be rescued.
Why would a cat burglar want to get into a prison? Nobody knows because this burglar actually was a cat, named Padfoot after the Harry Potter character,
He got into Haverigg Prison at Milom, in Cumbria – the beautiful Lake District, what a place for a prison - but got stranded and was in distress when he tried to climb the internal razor-wire fence, according to Huffington Post.
The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals were called. With some difficulty they got Padfoot down and eventually returned him to his owner, slightly cut up by the razor wire but otherwise OK.
Curiousity didn't quite kill this cat.
Tailpiece
NEWSFLASH - The Irish SAS were dropped into Russia last week with orders to take out Vladimir Putin. So far he's been to the cinema twice, to the pub every evening and last night they went ten-pin bowling …
Last word
Democracy means government by discussion, but it is only effective if you can stop people talking. - Clement Atlee
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