MISTA FINGAS FINGERS ME LIKE AND DA HAPPY NEW YEAR

BIRDY HAD DA MOST EX-KER-ROO-SHEE-AY-TING PAIN OVER DA OLLIDAYS SO HE WENT TO DA FIZIO, INNIT, MISTA FINGAS. HERE'S WOT OCCURRED, LIKE

 

So... Mista Fingas asks me to get off me undies then stand up straight.  Then he says me hip's out of alignment – in udder words, one of me legs was longer than the other because of a muscle spasm in my left hip.  “Now,” he says, “there are two ways of doing this.  I can go in there with my thumb and release the muscle, which will be extremely painful but only lasts six seconds, or I can put a magnet on it for 20 minutes.”

So I says, “Well, um, how long have we got?”  He glances at his watch.  “There’s probably just enough time, but I won’t be able to do anything else today.  I see you’re worried about the pain.”

“Er, well, yeah, a bit, like just how painful is it?”

“Very, but as I said, it only lasts six seconds, and then you’ll be fine.”

“Um, er, OK, let’s try it, see how I get on.”

“Roll onto your stomach and poke your head through the rest.”

“Er, OK.”

So I roll over and he begins to dig into the side of me left buttock, as you do.

“I think it’s this one,” he says.  “I’ve got to be sure or the whole session’s been wasted.”  He digs deeper.  “Yep, this is the one.”

I brace myself for the  pain.  He digs even deeper, then suddenly I wail like a bear that's had a bow anchor shoved up his arse. I begin the slow count to six.  And it's over.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I says, thinking that perhaps it would’ve been kinder on me if he’d given me a gag.

 

"Right, let's do that again," he says.

 

"Whhaa..."

 

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

 

"Got it," he says. "Now let's do the other side."

 

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

 

“Oh, yes,” he says, “yes, this is bad.  You’ll need more treatment on this.  I won't be able to do much today, except this.” He digs in again.

"Jesus! Stop!" I says.

 

"Right," he says, "that's enough for now. You'll find it quite tough to walk, eat, sleep, drink, fart, for the next week or two, maybe even for a month. And you may even have sustained permanent injury, but I've done my best. Oh, well. Run along now. Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

 

"Cheers, Mista Fingas," I says.

 

I'm not sure how I fell over. Maybe I was dazed, confused, bereft, forlorn, dopey. But several hours later a very nice road sweeper helped me up and into a taxi and I've been flat on my back for the last six days, so maybe tomorrow the pain will pass. Anyhoo, HAPPY NEW YEAR, one and all. It can't get any worse... Can it?

 

Birdy