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The doctor entered the wardroom and said 'Ah, hello Roger, I'm glad you have regained consciousness. You probably don't remember, but I'm afraid you were in a nasty crash on the motorway. You're going to be okay, you'll walk again and everything seems fine, but I'm afraid there's some rather bad news and I'm going to break it to you as gently as I can...
Your willy was chopped off in the crash and we weren't able to find it.'
Roger groaned (as he would!) and the doctor went on, 'We've just checked your health insurance and found that you actually have nine-thousand pounds compensation due, and the good news is that we have the technology to build you a new willy that'll work just as well as the old one, if not better! But the thing is, it doesn't come cheap. It's one thousand pounds per inch.'
Roger perked up a little at this (as he would!)
'So it's a simple decision,' the doctor said, "you just need to decide how many inches you want. But it's something you'd better discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five-inch willy before and decide to opt for a nine inch one now, she might be somewhat alarmed. However, if you had a nine-incher before and decide to opt for a five-incher now, she might be a little bit, well... disappointed. So it's important that you consult with her to help make the right decision.'
So Roger agreed that he'd talk with his wife.
The doctor returned the next day. 'Well, Roger?' he asked, 'have you spoken with your wife?'
'I have.' replied Roger.
'And has she helped you to decide?'
'She has,' he nodded.
'And what's the decision?' asked the doctor.
'We're having a new kitchen.'
A VERY SPOOKY CAR
This story happened a good while ago in Ireland. It may seem fictitious yet, allegedly, it is true.
John, a Dublin City University student, was out by the side of a gloomy country road hitchhiking on a dark night, in the middle of a vicious storm. It was so bad he could only see a few feet ahead.
Suddenly, he saw a car slowly come towards him... and stop. Desperate for a shelter and without consciously thinking about it, John climbed into the car and closed the door.... only to see it was unoccupied. Nobody was behind the wheel... and the engine wasn't running!
As the car slowly commenced moving again, he peered at the wet road ahead and saw a curve looming up. He started to worry for his life but... as the car was about to meet the curve, a disembodied hand came out of nowhere through the window, and turned the wheel.
Paralysed with fear, he continued to watch the eerie hand, yet it never touched or tried to hurt him.
Soon, he saw the lights of a pub in the distance, so, summoning up his courage, he hastily dived out of the car and ran for his life.
Soaking wet and out of breath, he rushed inside and started to tell everybody about his awful experience.
A deep silence enveloped the pub when everybody realised he was crying and was not drunk. Suddenly, the door opened, and two other people walked in from the stormy night. They, like him, were also soaking wet and out of breath. Looking around, and seeing John weeping by the bar, one said to the other. 'Look ye there, McCoy. See? It's that fookin' idiot who got in our car while we were pushing it!