The Naked Truth
During my university years I remember chatting to a medical student friend about those people that you meet at parties who immediately try to take advantage of your field of expertise to score some free professional advice. It must be really annoying for doctors, software programmers, builders and investment bankers (although they deserve no sympathy) when some tedious moron harasses you over a gin and tonic about some trivial diagnosis that they want you to make on the spot.
My friend said that it happened to him constantly for years but that finally he stumbled onto the perfect solution. I say stumbled because he unwittingly blurted it out while drunkenly chatting up some tasty Doris at a New Years Eve party. Of course, once he let is slip that he was a sawbones, her face lit up like a Vegas casino and she came out with the inevitable:
‘I’ve had this reoccurring pain here in my side over the past month and a half. What do you think it might be?’
It was the combination of alcohol, horniness and exasperation that let to his epiphany. After staring at her blankly for several seconds he said:
‘Mmm, don’t like the look of those symptoms. Could be a number of things, some of them quite serious. Why don’t you nip upstairs Love and take your cloths off. I’ll be up in a sec to make a proper examination.’
Of course she immediately backpedalled:
‘Oh no no. It’s quite alright. I’m sure it’s nothing really.’
At first my friend was peeved at failing to talk the sumptuous filly out of her dress but later he thrilled at the long-term benefits of what he’d discovered and has been using the same technique to shut pedantic arseholes up at parties ever since.
Well, a couple of years ago I was at a party enjoying the soothing effects of a few Blackbushes coursing through my veins when I mentioned to a lass that chemistry was my ‘bag’. To my chagrin, she started asking me about some paint in her garage that had inexplicably changed colour over night and what she should do about it. Remembering the sage advice of my dear friend years before, I gave her a somber professional look while rubbing my chin.
‘Mmm, tricky. Why don’t you nip upstairs Love, get your kit off and I’ll look into it?’
And you’ll never guess. It worked! Stopped the conversation dead in it’s tracks. In fact she didn’t even bother me for the rest of the evening. Nor did any of her friends. He was a genius that mate of mine.
Now, I wonder would it work on a Jehovah’s Witness?
My friend said that it happened to him constantly for years but that finally he stumbled onto the perfect solution. I say stumbled because he unwittingly blurted it out while drunkenly chatting up some tasty Doris at a New Years Eve party. Of course, once he let is slip that he was a sawbones, her face lit up like a Vegas casino and she came out with the inevitable:
‘I’ve had this reoccurring pain here in my side over the past month and a half. What do you think it might be?’
It was the combination of alcohol, horniness and exasperation that let to his epiphany. After staring at her blankly for several seconds he said:
‘Mmm, don’t like the look of those symptoms. Could be a number of things, some of them quite serious. Why don’t you nip upstairs Love and take your cloths off. I’ll be up in a sec to make a proper examination.’
Of course she immediately backpedalled:
‘Oh no no. It’s quite alright. I’m sure it’s nothing really.’
At first my friend was peeved at failing to talk the sumptuous filly out of her dress but later he thrilled at the long-term benefits of what he’d discovered and has been using the same technique to shut pedantic arseholes up at parties ever since.
Well, a couple of years ago I was at a party enjoying the soothing effects of a few Blackbushes coursing through my veins when I mentioned to a lass that chemistry was my ‘bag’. To my chagrin, she started asking me about some paint in her garage that had inexplicably changed colour over night and what she should do about it. Remembering the sage advice of my dear friend years before, I gave her a somber professional look while rubbing my chin.
‘Mmm, tricky. Why don’t you nip upstairs Love, get your kit off and I’ll look into it?’
And you’ll never guess. It worked! Stopped the conversation dead in it’s tracks. In fact she didn’t even bother me for the rest of the evening. Nor did any of her friends. He was a genius that mate of mine.
Now, I wonder would it work on a Jehovah’s Witness?
posted by Lung the Younger | 10:51 am
2 Comments:
"Mmm, don't like the sound of that. Tell you what love, whip out your Watchtower and we'll have a bit of a probe."
Could be a winner.
My physician is also a friend of mine. The other night I was at her house for dinner and asked her, in front of all the guests, also my friends, why toejam smells like cheese. She usually entertains my questions outside of the doctor's room, but, this time, she said it was outside her area of expertise.
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