states quite clearly that...'
'I know what it states,' squeaked Wilt. 'I also know that if you were forced to go into a
waiting-room filled with middle-class mothers and their skateboard-suicidal sons and had to
announce at the top of your voice to that harridan there that you needed stitches in the top of
your prick you'd have been less than reluctant to do it.'
'I'm not standing here listening to a lunatic call me a harridan,' said the clerk.
'And I wasn't standing out there shouting the odds about what had happened to my penis for all
the bloody world to hear. I asked to see a doctor but you wouldn't let me. Deny that if you
can.'
'I asked you if you had broken a limb, suffered a wound that required '
'I know what you asked me,' yelled Wilt, 'don't I just. I can quote it word for word. Well,
for your information a penis is not a limb, not in my case anyway. I suppose it comes into the
category of an appendage and if I'd said I had damaged my appendage you'd have asked me which one
and where and how and on what occasion and with whom and then sent me round to the VD clinic
and...'
'Mr Wilt,' interrupted the doctor, 'we are extremely busy here and if you come and refuse to
state exactly what is wrong with you...'
'I get a fucking stomach-pump stuffed down my gullet for my pains,' shouted Wilt. 'And what
happens if some poor bugger who is deaf and dumb comes in? I suppose you let him die on the
waiting-room floor or whip his tonsils out to teach him to speak up for himself in future. And
they call this the National Health Service. It's a fucking bureaucratic dictatorship. That's what
I call it.'
'Never mind what it's called, Mr Wilt. If there is something really the matter with your penis
we're quite prepared to look at it.'
'I'm not,' said the admissions clerk firmly, and disappeared through the curtains. Wilt lay
back on the couch and removed his pants.
The doctor observed him cautiously.
'Mind telling me what you've got wound round it?' he asked.
'Bloody handkerchief,' said Wilt and slowly untied the makeshift bandage.
'Good God,' said the doctor, 'I see what you mean about an appendage. Would it be asking too
much to enquire how you got your penis into this condition?'
'Yes,' said Wilt, 'it would. Everyone I've told so far hasn't believed me and I'd rather not
go through that drill again.'
'Drill?' asked the doctor pensively. 'You're surely not implying that this injury was
inflicted by a drill? I don't know what you think, Sister, but from where I stand it looks as
though our friend here had a rather too intimate relationship with a mincing machine.'
'And from where I lie it feels like it,' said Wilt. 'And if it will help to cut the bandage
let me tell you that my wife was largely responsible.'
'Your wife?'
'Listen, doctor,' said Wilt, 'if it's all the same to you I'd just as soon not go into
details.'
'Can't say I blame you,' said the doctor scrubbing his hands 'If my wife did that to me I'd
divorce the bitch. Were you having intercourse at the time?'
'No comment,' said Wilt deciding that silence was the best policy The doctor donned surgical
gloves and drew his own ghastly conclusions. He loaded a hypodermic.
'After what you've already been through,' he said approaching the couch, 'this isn't going to
hurt at all.'
Wilt bounded off the couch again. 'Hold it,' he shouted. 'If you imagine for one moment that
you're going to stick that surgical hornet into my private fucking parts you can think again. And
what's that for?'
The Sister had picked up an aerosol can.
'Just a mild disinfectant and freezer. I'll spray it on first and you won't feel the little
prick.'
'Won't I? Well let me tell you that I want to feel it. If I'd wanted anything else I'd have
let nature take its course and I wouldn't be here now. And what's she doing with that razor?'
'Sterilizing it. We've got to shave you.'
'Have you just? I've heard that one before, and while
'I know what it states,' squeaked Wilt. 'I also know that if you were forced to go into a
waiting-room filled with middle-class mothers and their skateboard-suicidal sons and had to
announce at the top of your voice to that harridan there that you needed stitches in the top of
your prick you'd have been less than reluctant to do it.'
'I'm not standing here listening to a lunatic call me a harridan,' said the clerk.
'And I wasn't standing out there shouting the odds about what had happened to my penis for all
the bloody world to hear. I asked to see a doctor but you wouldn't let me. Deny that if you
can.'
'I asked you if you had broken a limb, suffered a wound that required '
'I know what you asked me,' yelled Wilt, 'don't I just. I can quote it word for word. Well,
for your information a penis is not a limb, not in my case anyway. I suppose it comes into the
category of an appendage and if I'd said I had damaged my appendage you'd have asked me which one
and where and how and on what occasion and with whom and then sent me round to the VD clinic
and...'
'Mr Wilt,' interrupted the doctor, 'we are extremely busy here and if you come and refuse to
state exactly what is wrong with you...'
'I get a fucking stomach-pump stuffed down my gullet for my pains,' shouted Wilt. 'And what
happens if some poor bugger who is deaf and dumb comes in? I suppose you let him die on the
waiting-room floor or whip his tonsils out to teach him to speak up for himself in future. And
they call this the National Health Service. It's a fucking bureaucratic dictatorship. That's what
I call it.'
'Never mind what it's called, Mr Wilt. If there is something really the matter with your penis
we're quite prepared to look at it.'
'I'm not,' said the admissions clerk firmly, and disappeared through the curtains. Wilt lay
back on the couch and removed his pants.
The doctor observed him cautiously.
'Mind telling me what you've got wound round it?' he asked.
'Bloody handkerchief,' said Wilt and slowly untied the makeshift bandage.
'Good God,' said the doctor, 'I see what you mean about an appendage. Would it be asking too
much to enquire how you got your penis into this condition?'
'Yes,' said Wilt, 'it would. Everyone I've told so far hasn't believed me and I'd rather not
go through that drill again.'
'Drill?' asked the doctor pensively. 'You're surely not implying that this injury was
inflicted by a drill? I don't know what you think, Sister, but from where I stand it looks as
though our friend here had a rather too intimate relationship with a mincing machine.'
'And from where I lie it feels like it,' said Wilt. 'And if it will help to cut the bandage
let me tell you that my wife was largely responsible.'
'Your wife?'
'Listen, doctor,' said Wilt, 'if it's all the same to you I'd just as soon not go into
details.'
'Can't say I blame you,' said the doctor scrubbing his hands 'If my wife did that to me I'd
divorce the bitch. Were you having intercourse at the time?'
'No comment,' said Wilt deciding that silence was the best policy The doctor donned surgical
gloves and drew his own ghastly conclusions. He loaded a hypodermic.
'After what you've already been through,' he said approaching the couch, 'this isn't going to
hurt at all.'
Wilt bounded off the couch again. 'Hold it,' he shouted. 'If you imagine for one moment that
you're going to stick that surgical hornet into my private fucking parts you can think again. And
what's that for?'
The Sister had picked up an aerosol can.
'Just a mild disinfectant and freezer. I'll spray it on first and you won't feel the little
prick.'
'Won't I? Well let me tell you that I want to feel it. If I'd wanted anything else I'd have
let nature take its course and I wouldn't be here now. And what's she doing with that razor?'
'Sterilizing it. We've got to shave you.'
'Have you just? I've heard that one before, and while
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