“Wanking, sir. Wanking.” The doctor eyed the speaker with unease.

“Wanking?”

“Ay sir, wanking.”

“Well, I’ve never seen this kind of damage resulting from that…”

“Oi! Shut it there doc! Let’s not judge each other’s lifestyles now!”

“Well, for the time being I would recommend that we put it in a cast so it can heal properly, and then maybe in a few weeks we can see how it’s doing then, eh? Sound like a plan?”

“One problem, doc: how can I get me wank on in the meantimes?”

“Um, well, you won’t. You can’t. It needs to heal—”

“—Oi! You’re in no position to tell me whether I can or can’t get my wank on, ’right? I wank whenever it strikes me fancy.”

“Well, yes, I can tell. This is the third time you’ve been here as a result of…self-inflicted, masturbatory injuries. You have to give it a rest, lad.”

“Who you callin’ lad, hot ’n tot?”

“What? ‘Hot ’n Tot?’ What in bloody hell are you talking about?”

“Heh, if only you knew, doc, if only you know…” An evil smile crept across the speaker’s face.