The Life and Times of Sir Reginald Maximilian Cuntworthy IV
Good day to you all.
This is jolly old Reginald Cuntworthy IV here, and I’ve gotten myself into quite the conundrum. Last night, I was enjoying some fine wine and playing a bit of backgammon with my two best mates, Lord Geoffrey Wellington and Henry McHenry-McFeatherbottom O’Henry. As per usual, I was a bit groggy for the first half of the day today. As cruel fate would have it, I was set to sit for my son and watch my 11 year old granddaughter for the afternoon.
Things were all right and cheery-o at first. We went out into the yard and played a game of croquet. However, due to my hangover, at one tragic point, I errantly swatted my croquet mallet and hit my granddaughter O’Sherri in the crotch. The sheer magnitude of the blast to her crotchal region caused her hymen to rupture!
It was a bloody mess I say. She was sobbing relentlessly at the thought of being ragged on by her mates at the girl’s academy over it, and she is afraid that it will serve as a distraction at her next football match.
I picked her hymen up off of the ground and tried my damndest to sew the bloody thing back together, but it was to no avail. Then 3 o’clock came around and I had to return O’Sherri to her father. My son, Maxwell Coffeehouse Beamish Cornwallis Cuntworthy VIII, opened the door and could tell that there as a problem right away. I handed him O’Sherri’s hymen and explained what had happened and begged Maxwell to take it easy on the girl, as it was just an accident. Of course, my cursed and vile daughter-in-law, Ophelia Leprechaunpoop Surveillence Cuntworthy, alleged that there was foul play involved, and began casting aspersions upon my character, specifically alleging that I was a kiddy fiddler.
I assured her that my tallywhacker has been inanimate and utterly useless since my last IRA bombing at the big football match between Chelsea and Manchester in 1996, when some hooligan put out a lit cigar on my scrotum as I tried to flee the scene of the crime.
Ophelia was just getting under my hair though, she knows that I love my granddaughter and would never do anything to hurt her. My query for you is this: Is it possible to repair her hymen, or will she be like this from now on? Is there anyone I could call for help, perhaps a locksmith? Could the manufacturer of the croquet mallet provide any insight here? I say, there should have been a warning on the box about this!
Right then.
Cheers!
-Sir Reginald Maximilian Cuntworthy IV
Tags: Adult-humor, bizarre, broken hymen, croquet, Humor, strange accidents, tallywhacker
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