Fans of my genitals - and I know there are thousands of you out there - will be pleased to hear the latest news bulletin regarding the ol' meat-and-two veg, which arrived in the form of a letter from Bridport Community Hospital.
I shall be conducting tours of The Mighty Mallet this weekend for interested parties, for which there may be a small fee.
The letter:
Dear Mr Duck
Vasectomy Service at Bridport Community Hospital
I refer to your vasectomy operation on 11th August 2005 at this hospital, in which I - having only met you for the first time some twenty minutes previously - hacked away at your most private and shaven of parts with a pair of old nail scissors and a kitchen knife. I'm sure you remember it. The cleaners most certainly do!
It was, I am sure you'll remember, a most excellent day, and I hope they'll let me do work experience again in the near future.
Whilst it is true to say that you looked down at exactly the wrong moment to find myself and a couple of sweet ladies of the night posing as nursing staff holding napkins and picking at your sliced open innards like a smorgasbord, all's well that ends well, and let's just let bygones be bygones, eh?
Setting that particular nastiness with the General Medical Council to one side, I am pleased to inform you that after receiving a number of samples from your good self, that there are no motile sperms present and the operation can, somehow, be deemed a success.
My first one! W00t!
This is - I believe - the twenty-seventh time we have written to you with this information. Yet you still come to our hospital on a daily basis, crack one out into a coffee jar in the car park, and leave your still warm spoodge at reception where the Trust's chief executive mistakenly uses it as dressing for his lunch-time salad.
Also, I feel the need to point out that back issues of the British Medical Journal are not usually considered suitable one-handed reading material; and both hospital security and the police have asked me to point out that - therapeutic necessity or not - asking passing nurses to "tug on this love - doctor's orders" crosses the line of legality by some considerable margin.
Whilst staff members can set their watches to the impressive regularity and power of your daily ejaculate, the Trust asks that you stop doing this as the assembled crowds block the entrance to Accident and Emergency.
I, however, salute your incredible talent. Have you ever considered a career on the stage? You could be the next Paul Potts.
I remain, sir, your most obedient servant.
Dr H H Crippen
I am teaching the Mallet to sing Nessun Dorma as we speak. I'll show that Simon Cowell who's got the X Factor.
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