Three surgeons were playing golf. They were comparing their skillz.
“I’m a great surgeon,” said the first, one Mr Neutrall, a prominent Swiss surgeon. “Zere was zis man*, a pianist, who lost seven fingers in a freak piano accident. I sewed zem back on – he was playing to a standing ovation at ze Royal Albert Hall in London wizzin ze year.”
The other two didn’t look impressed.
Ms Bogan, an Australian surgeon, piped up: “That’s okay, cobber**, but I had this bloke, he had both arms and legs blown off in a freak wearing-a-hat-with-corks-on-whilst-drinking-beer-and-being-a-mysogenist accident… It took a while, but I reattached them and within 12 months he was winning the Gold medal in the Butterfly.”
The Texan surgeon adjusted his belt. “That’s real nice,” he said, “but I had a real challenge back in Texas a few years back. There was this cowboy, he rode his horse into a train going 80 miles per hour… sustained terrible injuries. All I had to work with was a horse’s ass and a cowboy hat… and now he’s President of the United States.”
I think that’s enough from me today.
* Zis is how ze Swiss speak, in my head.
** Er, yes, never mind… fair dinkum.