Bogri & Malcolm's Broken Leg
I was busily testing beer at the local when in limped Malcolm. Malcolm is always limp to some extent but this time he was really putting it on complete with walking stick. The last thing to do with Malcolm is to ask about his ailments but Hilda the barmaid has got a cruel streak and dropped us right in it.
"Evening Malcolm. What's up with your leg?"
"Don't ask." began Malcolm.
"I never." I interrupted.
"Fell off me bike didn't I. Doing fifty down past Pigs Lane when a bus pulled out right in front. Would have got away with it if it wasn't for a load of sh...diesel oil. Took the full load of the bike on me leg."
"You can't break a leg on an NSU quickly, Malcolm."
"Yes I did. Can't put me weight on it. It's agonising."
"Been down the infirmary?" I asked.
"Sure, Bogri," he replied, "but you know what they're like with us Hells Angels." We looked round to see who he was talking about. "Didn't want to know. Threw me out after a quick look." He sprawled over the bar and took the weight off his leg.
"You're resting the wrong leg. You limped in on the other one." I hooted.
"No I didn't you piss taking sod." sobbed Malcolm.
"Let's have a look at that leg." said Hilda, walking round the counter. Malcolm's face lit up. Before he could blink, me and Bruise had his denims hanging loose round his boots and his face changed to purple. Hilda's horny hands went up and down his emaciated legs like frantic tarantulas judging by Malcolm's antics.
"Gerroff, you raving nympho." yelled Malcolm hopefully.
"Nothing wrong with your leg by the way you're hopping about." I observed.
"Not so sure about that." said Hilda looking serious. "I did some nursing once and that's a sure case of a broken stapes."
"What did I tell you." shouted Malcolm victoriously. "A broken stapie, a broken stapie." he rolled it round his tongue. "I'm going back down that butchers shop called a hospital and ram it down their throat." He was out of the pub pulling up his pants as he went.
"Damn idiot." said Hilda, pulling us all fresh pints. "The stapes is in the ear. It's the smallest bone in the body. That's why his leg reminded me of it. There's nothing wrong with his bloody leg."
We all had a good laugh then I thought about Malcolm making a nuisance of himself down at the overworked casualty department, so I phoned up reception, explained the situation and asked them to pass it on to Malcolm. The woman at the other end was quite nice, said no need to apologise, they enjoyed the odd joke themselves and would sort things out. Malcolm returned two hours later and wouldn't speak to us.
"What happened, Malc?" asked Hilda, really rubbing it in.
"When I got there I told the receptionist I'd got a busted stapie and she called an orderly with a wheelchair. He pushed me to a room full of nurses and doctors. They stripped off me pants and spent about an hour tapping and pulling and twisting and listening. Kept umming and and ahring. Said I'd need a big operation, transplant a pictuary gland outa me bum and I'd be in traction for months.
"Then they all started laughing and one doctor said 'The only thing wrong with your leg, sonny, you've had it pulled!'"