Inhospitable

It is always a pleasure listening to the tales brought by the wandering nomads who stop for a rest in the grounds of Netherfield before heading for their next exotic destination. Nothing like seeing your own country, all the wonders and the horrors, through the eyes of a perfect stranger. From our affable neighbours who have flung open the doors of their own homes to provide gracious hospitality - to the more discourteous ones who have proven far less congenial.

Certainly reminds me of my earlier days of travelling as a pinch-penny student, though I have to admit I was decidedly less unkempt! Despite not having easily accessible amenities all the time, I still tried my best to shower - in all the unlikeliest places from an open well to a secluded sink in a railway station. Still I received very little hassle from the anyone - not even a fine for that brief bit of indecent exposure.


Where shall I go next?
Unlike the reception some female tourists have been receiving of late. Came as a bit of shock to hear from the travellers that female tourists in Kelantan were uncomfortable getting stared at by the distinctly unwelcoming locals. Some were even greeted by jeers and catcalls.

Nina : When I first arrived, I had a very bad impression of the country. After alighting the train, a group of men actually pointed at me, stared and called out what I assumed to be obscenities.
Paul : OMG.
Nina : And I was wearing a loose long-sleeved sweater and jeans, mind you. In case you're thinking I disturbed their sensibilities.
Paul : Disturbed them? I think they should be dragged out and shot.

Seriously. I am deeply ashamed of my countrymen for displaying such crude, discourteous behaviour.

Perhaps I have severely underestimated how fanatical the zealous freaks have been getting. Seems even the gracious art of hospitality in this region has fallen by the wayside with the austere advent of religion orthodoxy.

Wasn't it Abraham - or Ibrahim in the Qur'an - who once honored perfect strangers who approached his tent by saying this...

My lord, if now I have found favour in thy sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from thy servant. Let now a little water be fetched, and wash your feet, and recline yourselves under the tree. And I will fetch a morsel of bread, and stay ye your heart; after that ye shall pass on (Genesis 18:3–5).

Happy Heineken Haze

Not me obviously. Not only am I not a big fan of beer, I'm usually elected the designated driver.

And come on, when you're drunk past the age of thirty, it gets increasingly sad.

As it turns out - according to our 10 Steps for Post-Break Up Closure - it has apparently reached the point of alcoholic bingeing for Fabulous Felix. Already been about four months since the breakup so that's some progress made. Since there was free flow of alcohol courtesy of a willing patron, Felix was only too happy to imbibe of nature's intoxicating nectar.

Which resulted in a hilarious coming home after.


More drinks!
You see, it's been a while since either Pirating Patty or I have seen someone thoroughly soused. An uncomplicated symptom easy enough to recognize - especially since Felix practically blared out his triumphant return to all our neighbours in a 2-mile radius.

Paul : What the hell was that? Are people quarrelling next door?
Patty : Well someone's yelling at the top of their lungs.
Paul : Maybe the neighbours are having a fight! Go peek at the windows.
Patty : Oh shit, I think it's Felix.
Paul : Drunk?
Patty : Oh yeah.
Paul : Heh heh.

At least Fabulous Felix admitted he was reasonably inebriated. A sociable drunk he was, the laughing perpetually, talking loudly sort.

Till the sickness came. Those horrible, horrible waves of mind-numbing seasickness that had him curling up in a ball of misery moaning for painkillers.

Felix : Oh my head! Why is the world rocking up and down!
Patty : This is so fun!
Paul : Yeah, I haven't seen a drunk in so long.
Patty : I bet he throws up.
Paul : Let's stand a few feet away then. Wanna get him a pail?
Patty : One of Kat's?
Felix : Why are you guys talking so loudly!

Poor fellow. We've all been through the post-alcoholic agonies. Being the true friends we were, Patty and I got him stripped down, cleaned and tucked into bed.

Too bad I didn't manage to steal more than a quick grope.

Drinks Before Surgery

Certainly not recommending a tipple before holding the scalpel of course.

Not even for the one under the knife. Unfortunately very few patients know that drinking alcohol, even days before surgery, can be deadly. Seems even a single session of careless bingeing can reduce the immune system efficiency for a time.

Regrettably much too late a warning for Veracious Vernon.

Despite the serious lack of anything close to a gay social life here, Fabulous Felix still miraculously managed to pick up this gregarious fellow at a bar. Since it was a first-time meet, I'd opted to come along as a pretend chaperone / wing man. In case Vernon turned out to be a drooling troll unfit to be seen in public. Or even worse, a rapacious casanova seeking to divest Felix of what little had had in material possessions.


Drinks are on me!
Lucky for Felix, it turns out Vernon's neither. Just a friendly average joe with a serious penchant for alcohol. 99 Bottles of Beer on his wall just might not be enough for him.

Paul : That's a lotta drinks. What's the occasion?
Vernon : Oh drinking as much as I can! It's my last great bash before going for elective surgery tomorrow.
Paul : What a coinkydink!
Vernon : Why?
Paul : I'm your doctor tomorrow.
Vernon : OMG What! You're pulling my leg.
Paul : I'm not. I can do that tomorrow though.
Vernon : Oh shit.
Paul : Now hand me that bottle of beer. Then go home and get some sleep.

What a killjoy doctors can be.

Hold Your Hand

Seriously.

I'm not a big fan of PDA.

Public Displays of Affection natch. Not only do I have strict personal boundaries when it comes to uninvited hugs and kisses, I have a naturally chilly demeanour almost guaranteed to forcefully repel any such impetuous advances. In fact I don't think I'm very physically affectionate at all, even in private. Pretty sure Charming Calvin could attest to that.

Or at least that's what I used to think.

Turns out there are bigger prudes out there - our conservative Rambling Robin amongst them. More accustomed to sweet sonnets and civilized conversation, Robin steers well clear of the seamier side of the gay life. I'll willingly admit that his previous unfortunate encounter with a thigh grope in a seedy sauna soured the experience for him but wouldn't that have steeled him to make the acquiantance of a hand?

And I mean just a hand to hold. Nothing more.


Robin : OMG Did he just brush my hand?! Someone catch me! I think I'm gonna faint.
You see, our shy gentleman Robin has been getting all hearts-aflutter when a certain strapping fellow saunters past by his bachelor chambers. Faint heart never won any fair muscle mary so Robin bravely pursued the acquiantance with an uncharacteristically daring movie invitation. One that was accepted quite readily.

Robin : I don't know what I should do to let him know of my feelings.
Paul : You could try holding his hand during the movie.
Robin : WHAT!
Paul : Hold his hand?
Robin : WHAT?! I don't do that!
Paul : It's a hand.
Robin : But in public!
Paul : Everyone's watching the damned show.
Robin : I can't!
Paul : It's just his fucking hand! You're not cuddling his balls!
Robin : I can't touch his hand!
Paul : Good God. Are you in high school?!

Seems holding his hand is even more taboo!

I would have suggested venturing further than only his hand - doesn't everyone love a good make-out session at the movies? - but I figured that kinda wicked proposition would probably have timid Robin falling into a swoon. As it was, he was already breathlessly groping for his snuffbox.

Guess there really are folks afraid of a little hand-holding.


Obviously Robin flatly refused to entwine fingers with his gentleman swain without fair warning - so I had to resort to more devious and sophomoric ways of getting things done.

Paul : Can't believe you can't just grab his hand.
Robin : I can't do that! It's just not done.
Paul : Fine. Get a tub of popcorn. One tub of popcorn mind and share.
Robin : Umm. What for?
Paul : Haven't you seen the usual cliche? Get your hands into the tub at the fucking same time!

Seriously. Are we in high school yet?

The Shield of Obliviousness

In a household comprising of mates who haven't actually been brought up together, you'd expect a teensy bit of friction every once in a while. Hell, it's the basis of situational comedies where unlikely personalities are thrown together such as Three's Company and FRIENDS.

So yeah, Netherfield with its tenants has had its share of ... friction. We've all developed our own inimitable ways of dealing with the sporadic altercation of course. For us all to live together reasonably harmoniously, I tend to let the little things slide more often than not. All very zen.

Which allows us all to rub along quite tolerably.


Kat : I've got something to say.
Paul : Good grief.
Unlike Kool Kat who hasn't exactly cottoned on to the fact that she's elected to live with two guys. Card-carrying homosexuals we might be but we're still laidback fellows.

Kat : Someone has to take out the trash in the kitchen. Full of broken eggs and discarded vegetables. It could draw fleas and cockroaches.
Paul : Eeew. That's gross. Fortunately I don't actually cook so it's between you two.
Kat : Felix, don't you think it's getting a bit much? The trash is piling!
Felix : I like my shoes.

So I usually listen and nod agreeably to acknowledge the near daily diatribes from our well-meaning Kat on the shocking mismanagement of duties in the household. Followed by a mildly apathetic shrug. My way of dealing.

Certainly nothing to be compared to Felix! Judging by the non sequitur from Fabulous Felix, I am beginning to think our evolutionary survivalist Felix has developed a special defense mechanism in response to the daily barrage of assaults.

The Shield of Obliviousness.


Paul : Okay. What the fuck was that all about?
Felix : Huh?
Paul : You don't remember?
Felix : Remember what?
While Kool Kat rages onwards with her well cogitated tirade, I could see that her audience - our Felix - had already gotten himself armed with the Shield. Blithelessly staring down at his shoes, Felix seemed totally absorbed by the detailing on his sports sneakers, utterly oblivious to what she was ranting about.

Seriously, the day-dreaming clouds quartered with the mind-blanking haze of ignorance with twin amnesiacs as supporters could be emblazoned on his door as a personal coat of arms! In fact Kat could be raining down hails of poisonous arrows and it'd probably slide ineffectively off his mental shield! And at the end of the day, he can't even recall what happened.

Obviously a superior solution to suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

The Year of the Flirt

Don't think anyone would dispute the fact that Fabulous Felix is as gay as they come. Love the fellow to bits - I can actually swear a fabulous little purse falls out each time he speaks. How much more dull our world would be without some of his fairy dust.

What surprised me was the fact that it hasn't been all that long since he came out to himself. Knowing him, you'd have expected Felix to be dolling himself up with feather boas and glitter way back in kindergarten to sashay down the playroom. Turns out that's way off from what actually happened in reality for him.

Felix : All that fabulousity is making up for lost time, I guess.
Paul : Waitaminute, weren't you born with a rainbow flag clenched in your baby fists?
Felix : Uh. No? I only found out I was gay for sure in university.
Paul : OMG seriously. No pink feather boas in kindergarten?
Felix : None at all. How about you?
Paul : Knew maybe when I was 15?

Certainly explains why Felix doesn't have all the prejudiced hang-ups we carry about since he didn't come out to himself till after high school.


Ahh.. seems like we have a gay boy in our midst!
Think for a while there I was quite the flamer myself back in school. Sobered down as the harsh realities of an all boys school came home to me. Any delusional conservatives who actually imagine that single-sex education fosters rampant homosexuality have obviously not gone there. Far from liberal especially when it comes to matters such as sexuality!

Fabulous gay boy too school for cool hanging out in the compound seems ripe for a beating. But all the taunts and jeers about fags and homos that I endured through lower secondary eventually helped toughen me enough to hit back.

Not physically of course. Wasn't stupid enough to risk getting jumped outside the school compound by a bunch of brainless thugs. Though I'll admit to a few unwarranted kicks during a game of rugby. Don't even ask what I did with my hockey stick.


In general though I meted out verbal hits.

Classmate : Yo, faggot.
Paul : Why? Are you asking me out on date?
Classmate : Only if you had a sister.
Paul : Just like me? Aww, that's sweet.
Classmate : Fuck off.
Paul : Only if you buy me dinner first.
Classmate : What the... you...

Leaving them flummoxed.

Probably that's how I learnt how to flirt outrageously. Unfortunately teenage brutes that age don't really know how to respond to my unconventional, wildly inappropriate come-ons.

Just surprised I never ended up with a vengeful fist in my bloody eye.

Going Peanuts

Though I don't see Soused Soldat as often as I like - since he does have dozens of other appointments on his shockingly tight itinerary - we do keep in touch with the occasional messages. Even some multimedia ones.

Which is how I learnt that the Peanuts Collection was going for a steal in the bookstore next to his office. Balked at the heart-wrenchingly exorbitant price before when I first saw it - so with the discounted price at only a third, I knew I had to have it.

I know there are some who immediately think .. 'What the hell's the Peanuts Collection?' Also our Charming Calvin amongst the head-scratching lot!


Pretty sure you'd recognize the entire lot now. No doubt poor Charles Schulz would be a tad miffed to find that the eponymous beagle Snoopy has practically taken over the entire comic strip since few actually know that it's actually called Peanuts. Hell, even the muttering featherhead Woodstock is even more well known.

Never liked Snoopy surprisingly. Always wanted to punt the dog like a football.

Obviously I resemble Lucy quite a bit.

Well maybe not such an adult version of the comic.
Took only a few flips through the pages of Peanuts only to realize that Calvin reminds me of Linus van Pelt - though I am not sure what he does for a security blanket.

That Melting Voice

"Oh pleeease, he's so gay!"

That's what an unabashed Michael Bublé figured the men in the audience - supposedly dragged to the concert by their significant others - would be thinking. Proven untrue by the sly flash of his engagement ring of course. But even those fabricated rumours wouldn't have stopped the 9,000-strong crowd, mostly gushing thirty-or-forty something ladies, from screaming out his name as he stepped onto the podium.

Not forgetting the fanatical quartet of blondes several rows to the front who spent the evening throwing out fervent propositions at the dreamy crooner each time he turned their way. Wonder exactly what was written on their colourful banner. Perhaps hopeful offers to bear his child?


Come dance with me!
If Charming Calvin hadn't been by my side, I might have been a little tempted to do the same. Have to admit that I swooned just a little when I first heard that Michael Bublé was going to perform here. Even the shockingly exorbitant price, compared to the relatively more humble tag on his first show in 2003, placed on the tickets failed to deter me.

Truth is, Bublé puts on such a fantastic and intimate show that he's sure to win over even the guys who were dragged along to see him. Though from the way they all sung the old jazz standards from Sinatra to Nat King Cole in harmonious accompaniment, I think few were actually strong-armed to the concert.

While some might argue that he doesn't have the same vocal depth of a jazz legend such as Frank Sinatra, there is no denying that Bublé has an extraordinary gift for showmanship. It would be easy for a suave, good-looking crooner to have an ego to match, but Bublé remained surprisingly humble, approachable and emotionally honest on stage. Even a little bemused over the crazed adulation that surrounds him.


Despite sweating buckets in the tropical heat, Bublé had an infectious energy that lit up the stage. What it failed to do however was to inspire the conservative Asian audience stand up and dance. As always, our people remained decorously glued to their seats - though they started swaying a little by the end of the show.

Nonetheless the enthusiastic performer persevered through several soaked towels only to proclaim at the end. "I will come back again but only if two things happen. Either I come on stage dressed like Beyonce or you guys get some air conditioning in this place!"

Stronger

Sculpted 20 inch biceps are sure nice to look at but no, I don't mean stronger physically.

By strong, I mean mentally. Capable of lifting twenty tons all by sheer will alone. Maybe a touch of wily resourcefulness at that. Now that's what I look for in a partner. Someone who won't wring their manicured french tips helplessly moaning about things they can't do.

And focus on what they actually can do.

Unfortunately guys don't often look for such old-fashioned values in their partners when they go out searching. Far more interested in what's superficial than what's underneath. Gorgeous giggling trophy wives / husbands are what they bring home. Bright teeth, shiny smiles, porcelain skin - all very nice treats to have in fair weather when things are going well.


What are you saying, doctor?
But when hard times follow - as it sometimes must, all that doesn't help much. When poverty and sickness scurries in the back door, that's when you start getting the measure of a relationship.

Paul : Your husband is in a coma.
Wife : OMG. What do I do? I don't know anything! The bills! The wages! The house! The car! What do I do!
Paul : It won't come immediately. You can take your time.
Wife : I don't even know how to drive! I should just die!

Or the other extreme of shell-shocked ditz astonishment. Just had a preview earlier this morning.

Paul : Your husband is in a coma.
Wife : Can he go home tonight?
Paul : Your husband is in a coma.
Wife : So not tonight?
Paul : Definitely not tonight.
Wife : You mean he can go back tomorrow?

Then there's the disappearing act as well.

Paul : Your husband is in a coma.
Wife : Husband? What husband?
Paul ; Wait, where are you going?
Wife : To the bank! Uhh.. I mean going home to pack.
Paul : For your husband?
Wife : If you say so.

Some of the common reactions you tend to see in the intensive care unit.

When you've seen seemingly capable spouses fall apart as often as I have, you come to realize that a pretty face doesn't matter. At all. When you're wounded and disabled in the intensive care, what you need is a spouse who will stand up.

And refuse to fall. Now that takes strength.

Casanova Crimes

Repugnant villain preying on the lonely and the lovelorn.

Almost on a weekly basis, you see such sensational fodder splashed on the local tabloids where the unfortunate patsy - somehow usually female - finds herself cheated by a sweet-talking conman of her belongings with her bank accounts cleared. Rarely though do you find men being the victims.

At least till now.



Turns out an unscrupulous fellow has been going around blackmailing nearly 200 young gay men after sleeping with them. Charming them with his clever tongue, he then worms his way into their collective hearts only to leave them high and dry after swindling them of whatever meagre material possessions he can get his hands on.

If cheating them of their money and valuables weren't enough, the casanova may have been tested positive for HIV.


Time to hand it over.
A looming spectre terrifying enough that his wretched victims - guileless boys in their early twenties mostly - finally decided to seek the attention of the surprisingly understanding authorities. I gotta say hats off to the boys for being brave enough to come out this way, especially with the unforgiving glare of media attention.

No doubt some dogmatic homophobes are already saying that they deserve it. Already seen such prejudiced murmurs here and there online. Sigh.

Commenter : Oh they deserve it for having gay sex. It's God's punishment for their sins.
Paul : Seriously. Fuck off. Who made you judge, jury and executioner?

When will they ever learn that the victims don't deserve the blame for the crime committed? Though chances are slim, really hope they do catch the perpetrator. Hate crimes are already being carried out against the homosexual community, now the bastard wants to add another?

The Gay Witchhunt

Coming out to a friend can be particularly dicey.

Although we all assume that sexuality is just a small part of our entire personality, it seems that most of our friends view our coming out as an unwelcome metamorphosis. Like a huge pink neon sign screaming Homo has been branded irrevocably on our foreheads. Most true friends readily adjust to that novel fact with few assumptions - but there will always be a prejudiced few who would make a quick desertion.

Supposed friends who suddenly fall off the face of the earth.

So when I impulsively came out to Honest Harold a week back only to be answered with a cold impenetrable silence, I figured that's one friend lost.


Eh, wonder if that's Harold pinging me again?
Did him a disservice though. Shouldn't have underestimated the fellow since he came back with a curious vengeance, full of the usual twenty questions straight dudes love to find out from the homos.

Rapidly followed by the inevitable witchhunt. Playing Who's the Fag.

Harold : You really are gay?
Paul : Yes, I really am. You need pictures? Videos? Signed affidavits?
Harold : Umm. No!
Paul : I really am.
Harold : Is Tom gay?
Paul : No.
Harold : Is Dick gay?
Paul : No.
Harold : Is Harry gay?
Paul : No!
Harold : You don't know?
Paul : Do you think they hand us a list of nearest gay men when we receive the pink passport? It's not Grindr.
Harold : Uh. Maybe?
Paul : And even if there are flamers amongst us, I shouldn't be the one to tell you.

And God knows, Harold can never keep a secret.

He sounded awfuly worried though. Wonder if the straight boys really believe that homosexuality is an infectious disease.

Beware the Plague

First the water turned dark red with oil and scum threatening the fish and other water life.

Then it rained from the heavens for days with frogs cropping up all over the land.

Then a plague of mosquitoes and flies overran the cities of man followed by wild lizards seemingly untamed.


Then the people developed boils, abscesses and infected gouty tophi. Then the elderly fell from their perches with broken hips and torn ankles.

What hath God wrought on this once peaceful land!

In the past week, the hospital has been deluged with a sea of sickly washing in with a multitude of diseases. An unprecedented calamity with the plague-infested victims clamouring at the doors to be let in at all hours from daybreak till dusk. The near Biblical nightmare is almost more than any of us can bear.

Dammit.

Paul : Didn't we see this patient last week?
Nurse : Yes, she came in for her hip replacement.
Paul : And she's back?
Nurse : She broke the other hip. And developed abscesses.
Paul : And who is this man?
Nurse : He got run over by a forklift.
Paul : And he's covered in boils as well. Are we getting the Ten Plagues of Egypt?
Nurse : Look out the window. The town is covered in pitch- black darkness too.
Paul : And we had frog infestations the week before. Then the insects. Damn. And to think I missed church last week.
Nurse : At least you're not the firstborn.
Paul : True.

Obviously March came in like a lion - with a shocking increase in the number of patients requiring non-stop surgeries for the entire week. It's beginning to feel like a particularly hectic episode of Grey's Anatomy.


This should knock you out sufficiently enough for surgery!
With such an indecent number of patients and only me left standing, obviously we had to resort to some rather rough and ready methods to deal with the crisis.

All About Friction

People tell me I walk too fast.

And by people, I do mean Charming Calvin. Most times I try my best to ignore his admonishments on my speed demon walk - especially since he ambles especially s-s-slowly.

Lately however I'm starting to think that there might be some sense in what he's saying. You see, I've always had this rip at the inner cuffs of my slacks. Never could ascertain the cause of the particular tear but it happens on every pair of slacks / jeans that I have! Doesn't take long, maybe a month or two of regular wear.

And there's a little rent on my pants.


All that damned friction!
Supposedly the cuffs - the turned-up margins of trouser bottoms - are meant to protect pants from fraying or any other kind of damage from wet and muddy conditions. Doesn't seem to be helping in my case.

My ISO : Maybe you have a particular moth that just enjoys cuffs.
Paul : There are no moths!
My ISO : I blame your walk. It's all that friction from speed-walking. Burns the material.
Paul : WTF.

So maybe it is time to take my time walking. Certainly would save on my clothing expenditure.

The Faraway Collection

I'll admit there's a certain sweet charm to children's books of yore. Carefree optimistic fables with happy endings that you can be sure are ever after. Nothing all that wickedly terrible ever happened in that rose-tinted fantasy land.

Unlike the grittier tragidramas that pass for bedtime stories these days.

So many names on the list of books I used to read as a child. So many authors. Roald Dahl. A.A. Milne. Beatrix Potter. Dr Seuss. Just to name a few.

And yes, even Enid Blyton - despite the awful tar-and-feather treatment she has been receiving of late. Elitist. Racist. Sexist. All nasty epithets flung furiously at her door. Not helped by a recent BBC portrayal where she was unflatteringly painted as a wickedly arrogant upper-class snob. Simply horrid as one of her prep school characters would say.

Still I once reveled in the adventures of the Julian, Dick, Anne and Georgina ( plus their dog Timmy ). I went right up to the upper classes in St Clare's and Malory Towers. And yes, I even went on an adventure in the magic Faraway Tree. Though I have moved on from all these beloved characters to other more adult adventures.


Whoa! She's even translated into Chinese!
Which is why I found it highly amusing when someone raved over Enid Blyton at a dinner party.

Pixie : OMG I love Enid Blyton.
Paul : Yeah, used to love most of her books as well.
Pixie : Used to? I still read them! My favourite is the Faraway Tree.
Paul : You still go on trips with Jo, Bessie and Fanny?
Pixie : To see Moonface and Silky, yes! I read Enid Blyton every night just to have my happy ending!

And this Pixie has to be almost thirty.

Usually at such events, high-brow parvenus tend to profess critically acclaimed literary luminaries as their favourite authors. Very few would admit to reading trashy magazines like Cleo or Women's Weekly as an indulgence ( like I do! ). Much less a children's author.

Still curious about Pixie's admission though. I like Enid Blyton's books and I'll readily agree that her books appeal to all ages. But there's something vaguely disturbing about an adult who still indulges in her books on a daily basis!

Modesty Be Damned

Forget about modesty in the hospital.

What would you expect when the first thing we ( or should I say the no-nonsense nurses ) do is force our unfortunate patients to disrobe into flimsy beribboned gowns the pitiful size of a hanky? Barely covers the naughty bits even.

Don't even think of a strong breeze.

Honestly I find it hard to explain myself. Understand the need for proper exposure during physical examinations but having them all wear skimpy hospital gowns 24/7 doesn't make much sense sometimes. Pretty sure there has to be a sly, hidden addendum to the Hippocratic Oath that mentions the urgent need to strip all patients to their nethers.


Think it's time to get naked!
So it should come as no surprise that patients who come for scheduled surgeries do end up mostly naked for some appreciable amount of time. With positioning, draping and cleaning, it's almost inevitable. The majority grit their teeth and suffer the indignities silently, a few yelp muttered complaints.

None have been as demonstrative as the 20 year old fellow we had today.

Nurse : Time to pull down the blanket.
Boy : No. No. I don't want to do it.
Nurse : We need to expose your thigh for the surgery.
Boy : But I'm still a virgin, doctor! A virgin!
Nurse : Oh.
Paul : We'll be gentle, I swear.

Didn't stop us from doing our duty though.