The Vicissitudes of Slipper Eating.

Last night at work, one of our nurses spoke to a seemly gentleman with a singular problem. He'd eaten a fucking slipper. Or, to be precise, half a slipper. That's right, a slipper. Which he thought was a sandwich, although it apparently took him a good few inches of mucky rubber and old fabric to realise this. In between our screams of mutual laughter I couldn't help but think... how? Honestly? My only rationale for it boiled down to a few points:

a) His wife's sandwich making skills were seriously below par.

b) She'd been serving beef wellington previously, in the literal sense.

or

c) He's stark bollock mental.


As with most things in the NHS, C was the right answer.

Overheard in the Gym:

'I mean, yeah, the ancient Greeks didn't have all the equipment like this here did they? But they were still fucking ripped though, just look at 300!'

Yeesh.