Arse gash
Not me, but a mate, who we shall refer to as John (because that is name) used to share a flat with me in Cheltenham, above the ONE-STOP, across from the timber merchants place.

John, being a dirty bastard had managed to develop a rather nasty boil on his bum, a little to the north of *that hole*, but close enough that you couldn't examine one without having to view the other. Nice.

Being the curious chap John was, he couldn't help but play with it (his boil...) and eventually, and as you might expect for a skin breach in that region, it became infected. Really infected. So sore he couldn't sit down, he had to lay on everything.

He wanted to see it. It was about Christmas and I'd just bought a new camera for my old man that handily hooked up to the TV. Imagine John's face when I zoomed into his botty boil with my dads megapixel camera plugged into our 28" widescreen telly. 28" of red, bloody, pussy, bottom boil.


After he recovered I was tasked with driving our curious, amateur biologist to Cheltenham General hospital, where, as you might expect for Cheltenham, the prettiest nurse (quite possibly in the world) had to poke her finger around our Johns bum for a good 30 minutes before he was sent home with not much more than a plaster on.


How we laughed.
(stuicey, Thu 2 Sep 2004, 13:52, Reply)