Caught by Surprise

Got the 'ol tadger skinned a while back so no sex until the skin & stitches healed up. So,I'm off work,lying in bed watching day time tv & the doorbell goes.
So shoves on my dressing gown & shuffles to the door.Opens it & there's someone collecting clothes or other shite.Get's rid of them,closes the door & turns around. In the dressing mirror at the end of the hall,there's me in my dressing gown with the old tackle semi lob on poking out !
Mine's not so great as the wonders that precede it, but I feel it should be told, merely so future generations may learn.

Medical, civvi doctor. That morning had decided "don't want to need a urine in the medical, I'll make sure it's all out of my system". Turn up to the medical expecting a quick listen to heart and lungs and a pat on the back. Suddenly "do you want to give your urine sample now or after your examination Mr Crabby?"... bugger... "afterwards please" with my mind racing as to how I could perform, my mouth was completely dry. Suddenly remember I have two large bottles of water in my car, rush outside between eye examination and the main appointment, down 3 litres of water. Swagger back in content with myself. Go into the room with the GP, few questions then: "Right, just pop your clothes off, I need to take a look at your goolies". I was still suffering the effects of the cold outside from getting water, I desperately needed the loo having taken in too much water and this last request was a shock to the system. Crabby juniour didn't want to come out and play, infact, he wanted to stay inside. I have never been so small. I was dying of embarrasment, all this GP could do was smirk (I swear he smirked) and then spent 5 minutes fondling my sack - I was getting worried. "Right Mr Crabby, just roll over I need to check your tail pipe" eeeeeeeek, I roll over and he pulls my arrsecheeks apart. Crabby juniour gives up, becomes a clit and my sack decides it would look better as a necklace.

I still get clammy hands thinking about it, and Crabby junior is hiding at the repressed memories
my eyes are watering ... with laughter!

here's a story a friend emailed to me ...

"Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying. On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head.

The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition was no problem. Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it." "You know where the button is," I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!" "But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behaviour as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced with! a "fight or flight" syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor buck naked in front of a group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics. Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter.... .and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was. "What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?" If they only knew"
Obviously none of you have been for the snip - on an NHS system like a car assembly line.

Fifteen grown men, all fine productive, fertile specimens (that's why we are being snipped), getting their kit off, into gowns and hanging around on beds in an antique hospital ward.
First of all, "nursey", a dragon who could castrate you with her grimace checked the target area. God knows what her vision was like, it must have been damn good because it shrank under her gaze. She had probably not seen a full sized "angry" set in ten years.

One by one they came for us and wheeled out the next victim. I was about number 10 so I got to watch the routine, often.

Out they went. Pale and drawn. Grining feebly, some of the braver ones tried a joke. The same sort of jokes they told at Paschendale just before going over the top.
Every single bugger that came back did the same thing. Wheeled in flat on his back, stupified with general anasthetic and just coming out of it.
Coming round just enough to sit up on the trolley and try to pull back the sheet. Nursey tried to stop him but he bezzered it and fought her off, pulled back the sheet, lifted the gown . Then the horified look down at his bollocks and mumble like a bezzer,"Jaysus, is them stills theres .." Then go flat on his back and gonk for an hour.

By number 10 the trolley pushers just didn't notice anymore. Funny as feck watching them. Then I did it too.
As a Junior Leader, I got a nasty kidney infection, which resulted in every p1ss i had feeling like a string of mile bottle tops being pulled out of my japper, and it being the colour of Ribena.

I went to see the M.O. who was a hard faced fat arrsed old trout who smelt of formaldehyde and cats, doubled up in pain and looking for a bit of T.L.C.

I had my initial examination, and she told me to "go behing the screen and strip so i can do a more thorough check"

Well, i took "strip" to be "strip" and took the lot off, and ended up standing in a cold room, with nothing on except a pair of green army socks (one with the issue "floppy toe") and my hands covering what looked like a small vole nestling in a furry nest.

The M.O. walked round behing the screens with her notes and froze

"i only meant your top you horrible little man... put some clothes on this instant"

I nearly f ucking died of shame, and got dressed again speedier than on any quick change parade.
Tartan_Terrier said:
Clanker, what does your signature mean?
I've tried Babelfish but got this:

This was well for with you at was possible praat, enjoys that day!

Obviously not quite correct :?
rough translation "it was nice to talk to you,have a good day" in afrikaans

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