You cant trust penguins.


Kit Reviewer
Well you can't can you ?

When the Recuiting Sgt came to our row of hovels it caused a great stir. "Come and enlist !" he cried, "Be a man amongst men !"
Tales of derring-do, drums, colours and smart uniforms all made an impression on the young Cuts.
It seemed to make even more of an impression on Cuts Senior, who in return for seeing his eldest son and heir doubled away, slipped the Sgt a shilling and ticket for a free ride at Rosie's Massage Parlour and Pie Shop.

Time passes; and it dawns on the still-stunningly-good-looking-though-not-quite-as-young-as-he-was Cutaway, that stuffing all the extra link and mortar rds into the bergan might not have been as ally an idea now as it was at the time. Or all those times.
Knees don'tcha know, knees.

The quack sent me off to a knee specialist at an odd hospital which was filled with monochrome nuns of all things.
I never knew nunning was so dangerous, but the krankhuis was absolutely full of them.
As I hadn't seen any of them in bed I eventually worked out that either they'd not started the party yet or they were staff, and they'd be the ones administering to my every need. I was looking fwd to that, it was like a pre-Chrimbo showing of the Sound of Music but without the caterwauling.
The quack gave me a DTG for the op and guaranteed I would be first in the door.
Being a switched-on soldier I entered it into my busy social calendar. (Read: stuck it on the fridge with a novelty flange-shaped magnet.)

A while later while on the juice with the lads one of them announced that his missus was going to be away for ten days, and shouldn't we have a day watching the rugby on his widescreen with a stack of egg banjos and crates of WifeBeater.
"Bloody right I'm in !" I said while supping the umpety-umpth ale and chucked a score in the pot for the iffy foreign beer.

Day before I'm off to get the angle grinder on the knee, said mate phones and gives me a last minute heads up for tomorrow's titanic p1ss-up.
"TOMORROW ? Bugger! Ok no wuckers, I'll be there."

At O-dark-thirty I pitched at the hospital, eager to get the whole thing over and done with so I could crack on with the serious business of emptying bottles.

Quick briefing by one of the wimple clad sisters showed that there are remarkable similarities between ordinary dorii getting married, and these women giving their lives to God.
1) They both give up blow-jobs.
2) They both have a sense of humour bypass.

-"Mr Way, you will be having full narcosis and after the operation you'll wake up in the recovery room over there."
- "No, I want one of them things women have !"
- "What 'things' do you mean ?"
- "You know, when they have babies an' stuff"
- "No Mr Way, I have no idea" (God's missus arches her eyebrows.)
- "When you bend them over and stick that thing in"
- "MR WAY !"
- "No you daft trollop not that ! Oh sh1t, I mean, soddit. I'm terribly sorry. I mean 'no sister.' But it's that injection in the back thing."
- "Epidural you mean ?" (Cue arched eyebrows again.)
- "Yeah, that's the jobby ! It only does your pins and means I can go out afterwards, right ?"
- "Yes that is correct. You will be able to leave two hours afer the operation"
- "Top ! We'll go for that then."

The good bit about this jab is that you're awake and can see everything that goes on.
Several monitors showing your insides in glorious Technicolour and the machine that goes "PING !"

Getting the epi was no problem, the feeling of going numb was fun too then the quack started his doings.
I couldn't actually sit up to watch the whole show, and the buggers wouldn't let me take the camera in the theatre either so I just watched the televised highlights.
The only thing that was iffy about the op was when I heard the splashing of loads of liquid hitting the deck, andthe surgeon said, "Whoops !"
I don't know about you, but 'whoops' is not a word you really want to hear in an op theatre, especially when you're the one they're playing with.
Still it must have been ok as I wouldn't be wasting your time with this rubbish else.

Anyway, got wheeled out and had to wait until the legs had the feeling returned.
To be honest after the chat with Mrs God earlier I wanted to be out asap, and was possibly not the most patient, er, patient of their duty. Or even their career.

- "You can't leave until you've had a tinkle."
- "Send Tinkle in and I'll give her my best shot"
I wish I'd remembered about the sense of humourectomy they'd all had.

- "If you can't go we'll just catheterise you"
. "Yeah Right !" I thought silently, "I've pissed you off & now you want to stuff a garden hose down my Jap's eye ?"
- "Ok Sister, I'll let you know."

Five minutes later I said I needed a leak and was wheeled into the khazi.
No way were the God Squad going to get their jollies by adding to my plumbing, so I waited a while and flushed the bog.
I then arced the mobile up and sent a flash helireq, I was about to be exfilled in style.

Soon the usual suspects arrived to drag me to freedom and alcohol.
Just before I went one of the nuns had a gentle word in my shell-like, and informed me that the last place that regained any sensation was the pelvic reigon. (As if I hadn't noticed.)
- "Ok, cheers Sis. I'll keep a hand on things."
- "Well you might want to visit the lavatory at regular intervals to ensure you don't have any, er, continence problems."
- "Sure thing !" I cried, not really paying any attention - I was OUT !

We had to stop off at a bar before turning the oppo's house into a replica of the Somme, and the 'quick beer' turned into a booze trap.

After a few too many I said "Hey, look what I can do with this !" and pulled out the blue-veined junket pump and slapped it against the bar.
The anaesthesia was still working and there was bograll feeling in it.
I smacked an ashtray down on top of it.
Still nothing.
One of the lads belted the end with his keys and there was nary a flicker.
I only put it away when I noticed a couple of lighters getting deployed. Well, that and the FOGB bouncer suggested that I should be properly dressed.

So a few more wets and I'd forgotten the warning from the nun.
I then noticed Dave staring at me in disbelief. He started laughing and nudged the blokes on each side.
I thought my flies were open so went to zip up.
Never thought I'd be so surprised to get a wet hand. I'd just produced a cracking map of Africa on the front of my tan chinos, while still relatively sober !
That was a first, I normally have to pass out to swamp, but there I was stood on both feet rehydrating my dessies.
I thought it was bloody good skills, but the bar staff seemed less than impressed.

We stayed for a couple more before getting to the rugby, but would you believe they made me get out of the heavily soaked strides before I was allowed into the motor ?
Jack cnuts.

I really wish I could relate that I had a lumpy follow through, but alas my hoop's made of sterner stuff and it kept my breakfast onboard.
And if anyone's interested my bits can still do gymnastics.

But nuns eh, sisters of mercy ?
Nah, you can't trust them.

The nuns didn't look like this.
I still don't see the penguins !

Having been educated by nuns I can confirm, they are neither poor, nor do they have mercy.....

Cuts you had a lucky escape, no doubt there would have been a terrible 'accident' had you needed to be catheterised resulting in a name change to Ermintrude, a whole new wardrobe and a host of other gender bender problems.... Some of which I'm sure would have been new, even to you!

Beebs x


Kit Reviewer
Ok Beebs, just for you some penguins, see if you can spot the difference:

RTFQ said:
Do nuns have medicals? How long do you reckon a bloke could bluff his way as a nun?
Well maybe the one on the right wearing glasses is Cuts and they are passing the sex toys around and he has just used it on the one to his right :wink:

edited to add: You can't trust penguins........


Kit Reviewer
Babyglue, this will show you exactly what they do with their wings and why they're not to be trusted:


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