I just wish Her Majesty does not benefit from the tender ministrations of the World beating NHS as did my dear late Mater (aged 96).
Rock up as usual. For some reason screen drawn up around bed, empty ward, no sign of any doctors or nurses for several hours. I call out asking where everybody is. No answer. Patients hiding beneath their sheets. Still no answer. Barely literate Rumanian orderly suddenly appears at my mother’s bedside. Mumbles something like:
“Would you like something to calm you down dear?”
In the same breath closes the curtains and whips a syringe into her arm then fucks off sharpish. Her eyes roll up and the old Mater is brown bread within ten minutes. I kiss her, feel that old marble cold of death then inform the ward:
“She’s dead you cunts”
Silence for a few minutes then the Rumanian cunt returns with a bodybag on a trolley and removes her dentures and gives them to me along with her wedding ring. Asks me if she has any metal prosthetics in her body then zips her up in the body bag and offski. Says over his shoulder on the way out:
“I gotta get move on before she stiffens up”.
Fair enough but fuck me, happy days. Shortly there after the cunt returns and changes the bed and sprays around a bit of disinfectant. Then by magic life returns to ward, nurses put in appearance and even a doctor peeks in to check time of death for the death certificate.
With the deepest of respect Your Majesty, if some Rumanian cunt comes to give you an injection tell him to fuck orf. Oh and if you think I missed out the bit about the hospital chaplain sitting me down with a nice cup of tea and a kind word Fuck Off. Though I was clearly deeply conflicted between thoughts of grief and inheritance the cunt could not get me out of there fast enough and wheel in the next punter. Indeed saw the poor old cunt being pushed in on my way out. Sod him, I did not mark his card about the injection.
Nominated by: Sir Limply Stoke