Sketch Diary: Orthopaedo

An attractive blonde physiotherapist calls me into her office.
Hmm...she's nice.
She orders me to take my clothes off.
Ooh...interesting...
She has really cold hands.
Oh.
She assesses how enfeebled my shoulder joint has become and prescribes some light rotator cuff exercises.

Sketch Diary: Facebook

Hey, why's that chap holding his book right up to his face in Archway's finest Irish booze-nest, The Mother Red Cap?

Is he: a) reading the most engrossing book ever; b) so long-sighted he has to feel the words with his eyes to read them; or c) cunningly hiding the fact he is totally pissed up and asleep?

Sketch Diary: Disclocation, dislocation, dislocation

Like Guido Fawkes' confession signature, this drawing was forced out in pain, and with my wrong hand. The things I do for you anonymous web-sods.

I have dislocated my shoulder, for the third time. Unlike the previous times, I was given gas, morphine, and a wheelchair, all fairly quickly. But, despite my protests, I was also fully conscious when they squelched my humerus back into my body.

Sketch Diary: Speedo Muncher

July: I had a lovely holiday in France. Unfortunately my enduring memory is this mulleted speedo-Nazi enforcing his 'speedos-only' rules on the poor speedo-clad freaks of Grenoble (i.e Speedo-land). He actually chucked me out of the swimming pool for wearing swimming shorts, the fucker. All because my genitals weren't packed into a little Lycra sac like his.

Click on the image for the full-fat effect.