Handed on a Platter

Sometimes you get handed a piece of information, that actually overloads your brain. it is usually something, an item of news concerning somebody you know, that is so full of possibilities for mirth, that your sensors overload and all you can do is grin, as a multitude of quips, cracks and jokes race through your mind. One of these rare instances happened to me on Tuesday. I meant to report prior to tonight, but up until now I have been unable to form my thoughts around this matter till now. I shall set the scene. My phone, rings, and cursory look at the caller ID shows it is a call from JMF second in command, Able Seamen Funky.

"Can you get somebody to fill in for me down the Wood tomorrow?" enquired PJ.

"Sure, what's up?" I responded.

"I keep getting bleeding from me arse, and I am off to hospital to have a camera stuck up me bum to see what's up there" he candidly said.

The thoughts that raced through my head, I could imagine him being presented with a thin fibre optic camera, and refusing it, demanding instead one of those massive outside broadcast efforts from the seventies, along with a full sound crew, and Alan Whicker to provide commentary. Or would they find Lord Lucan astride Shergar, vainly looking for an exit. Would his cavernous anus be graffiti strewn, tagged by the numerous rent boys that had forgotten to strap a plank of wood to their arses? Please feel free to enter your ideas of what could be lodged up the Funky one's keister.

Don't get me wrong. I love the guy to bits, and wish him the speediest of recoveries. But let's just hope he learns, that your sphincter is for life, not for ones amusement. And long may he continue to provide me the wealth of ammunition that he has up until now, always afforded.

Get well soon funky.