Lady Godiva's Operation

When I heard the doctors standing over my hospital bed discussing my massive subarachnoid haemorrhage and how I was now in a persistent vegetative state, I laughed. I then tried to climb out of bed and soiled my hospital gown.

My brain enjoying it's haemorrhage

It was with some chagrin that I realised I had not, while comatose, been subjected to any violent and humiliating sexual assaults. What am I, chopped liver?

I am told my anal wink response is unusually highly developed.

I recall, filtered through my post-anesthesia haze, the sneering, insinuating tone of my doctor as he discussed my case bedside: the human nervous system ... what is to be done with it? Reduce it to a compact, abbreviated spinal column whatnot. The brain ... reptilian, mammalian and upper primate ... surely evolution demands it goes the way of the appendix and the adenoid? Redesign, gentleman! Redesign, retool, reboot! Wire the mouth directly into the anus! Dispense with all this antiquated plumbing!
I can, even now, recall the ribald sounds ... it seems there was quite a commotion as he was led away, still declaiming.

The operation was a success but the patient will never play piano again.

While I was under sedation some wag had tattooed a yellow Star of David on my forehead. Laugh? I could have choked on a ham sandwich ... kosher, of course.