On May 8, doctors at Massachusetts General performed the first successful penis transplant, a feat that reminds me of several of the best jokes about such a procedure.
A man had a bad case of stuttering. He went to many doctors over the years, but none of them could help him. Finally one doctor said to him "I believe I found the reason for your stuttering".
The man asked, “Wha . . . wha . . . wha . . . what is my pro . . . pro . . . problem?”
The doctor replied, “Your penis is very large. The weight of your penis is causing a strain on your larynx, and this results in your stuttering. The only solution for this is a penis transplant.” The man was really tired of his stuttering, so he agreed to the surgery. Several days later the doctor called the man up and informed him that they’d found a suitable donor. The transplant operation was successfully performed and the man could speak without any stutter.
At first he was happy, but after a while he began to miss his large penis, and how the girls used to love it. He finally went back to his doctor and said, “Doctor, I’m grateful for the opportunity you've given me to speak without a stutter, but I miss my old penis. Please find the transplant donor and tell him that I want my old penis back. The doctor shook his head and replied, “That's im . . . im . . . im . . . impo . . . impossible.”
The last person still alive who was born in the 19th century is an Italian woman, Emma Martina Luigia Morano, born on November 29, 1899. When asked to explain her longevity, she said that daily she had three eggs, one cooked and two raw, pasta, a dish of raw meat, and a glass of brandy. I think that last item may be the real reason for her 116 years.
In the last three weeks in the news, we’ve seen over and over again the word “presumptive,” referring to the two likely nominees for president. What an appropriate word it is, especially when it points to Donald Trump. It reminds us of the more well-known word “presumptuous,” arrogant and with brass cojones, a label the Donald seems to wear with pride.
And the fuss over transgender bathrooms. What’s the big deal? Simply do away with urinals in male bathrooms and have separate enclosed stalls, thus precluding any prurient eyeballing by those who don’t physically conform to our sexual profiles. Female bathrooms already have such separate stalls. In this age of sexual freedom with all the F-bombs and nudity and explicit sex in film and on television, how can we be debating a problem with such a simple solution?
And finally, the last Bit, the tragic death of Samantha Broberg, who fell off a cruise ship in the Gulf of Mexico. I was reminded of an old Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode called “Dip in the Pool,” based on a story of the same name by Roald Dahl. A passenger on a cruise ship has entered a betting pool with his and his wife’s life savings. Mr. Botibol is betting that the ship will travel the least distance the following day. The weather forecast has told him there would be foul weather, thus slowing the ship. But the next day was sunny and calm. That evening he comes up with a plan to stall the ship so that he can win the pool. He’ll accidentally (on purpose) fall overboard, making sure he has a witness who will inform the captain of his fall. He finds a young woman near the ship’s rear and engages her in conversation. When she glances away for a moment he jumps over the rail and into the sea. He waves frantically at her and she waves back. Then a matronly woman approaches her and scolds her for being on deck alone. It seems that the young woman is mentally handicapped or suffering from dementia. Bye bye, Mr. Botibol.
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