Witty Thigh-Related Pun Title

I did not hurt my thigh through bodybuilding. But I did hurt my sides > Over this recent bank-holiday weekend – on the Sunday to be precise right down to the oft-whispered and oft-feared and oft-described with words beginning with “oft” day level – I awoke at 6 o’clock in the morning. You want to know why? You want to know why? I’ll tell you why! I rolled over and felt an <strong>Excruciating Agony™</strong> in my left thigh. That’s why.</p>
<p>The pain would not go away. I used the power of my mind and … nothing. Either I was stupider than I thought or my brain transmitter batteries had run down. I tried to convince my leg to stop being painful using a series of mimes but my other half was woken up by by frantic actions, assumed I was masturbating, and punched me in the gonads. She turned back to sleep and, instead, I opted for rubbing some Deep Heat into my thigh – but not my gonads; trust me, you only ever do that <em>once</em> – after shuffling down the hallway to the bathroom. </p>
<p>That reminds me: naked zombie films; untapped goldmine! </p>
<p>Over three hours later and the pain was still there. Oh the pain! The pain of it all! Unable to move without grimacing in agony I entered a state of deep mental concentration. Mostly out of fear of being hit in the gonads again. This quality in-fear-for-my-health stillness time gave me the opportunity to ponder just what could have caused the mysterious and debilitating torture I was being subjected to.</p>
<p><strong>My Girlfriend Attacked Me</strong></p>
<p>Me attacked by a girl!? Again?</p>
<p>She did once attack her former boyfriend. She was asleep at the time but sat astride him, picked up a bedside table lamp, and was about to crack him over the skull with it when he woke up and grabbed her arms. However, she has never attacked me. After she told me that story I’ve never given her any reason to do so. I also sleep with one eye open. Although, since I face away from her in bed and mostly just catch my cornea on the bedside table I may stop doing that.</p>
<p>Since there was no bruising I have decided that I was, in all probability, not attacked by my girlfriend.</p>
<p><strong>I’m Henry The Eighth, I Am</strong></p>
<p>I don’t know a great deal about Henry VIII but I do know that he suffered from gout. I also don’t know a great deal about gout but I seem to recall it has something to do with alcohol and legs – that’s the sort of thing that sticks in your mind for some reason. Finally, I don’t know a great deal about reincarnated kings but I am willing to entertain the possibility that they exist and are responsible for making my door too narrow to get my new sofa in the house. Put this all together and mix in a fact or two – I like alcohol, I have legs, and I’ve never quite ruled out the possibility that my blood is blue because I’m royal rather than the more obvious explanation that my blood is blue because I swallowed an ink cartridge when I was at school – and you get the distinct, slim chance that there’s a slither of a possibility that I am remotely likely to be the fleshy shell of one of England’s most-bearded kings’ spirits.</p>
<p>To test this hypothesis I considered whether I shared any of the gouty one’s other well-known attributes:</p>
<ul>
<li><strong>multiple wives</strong> – before I can have multiple wives I must first have a single one and we’ve pretty much agreed that’s not going to happen. Lots of money for a pointless ceremony? Can we really? Where do I sign up for that? Who needs a home theatre anyway?</li>
<li><strong>form a new religion</strong> – as far as I am concerned religions are the strict disciplinarians that keep the weak-willed from thinking. They had their time: it was 3:18, one Tuesday afternoon. I can’t remember which one exactly. Back when our brains were less developed. Why do the weak-minded people who fall victim to gambling addiction, drinking and drug addiction often "find God"? Because they’re weak-minded. They cannot think for themselves, they cannot reason, and they need someone else to do it for them. There was a clue in the question. Hang on, am I ranting? And going off-topic? Apparently I am. So, in summary, I will only form a new religion to lead an army of the mentally deficient in my specialised first "fodder" attack wave against the government when I take it over. Until then, religions are bad, m’kay?</li>
<li><strong>looks good in tights</strong> – guilty as charged.</li>
</ul>
<p>One out of three wasn’t good. I’m Henry the Eighth, I’m not.</p>
<p><strong>Spiny Shark In Bed</strong></p>
<p>What’s worse than a shark? A spiny shark. And one in your bed? Why, that would be just diabolical. Someone could roll over onto the spiny shark and puncture their thigh leading to spiny shark poison soaking into the muscle and causing a numbing, painful paralysis.</p>
<p>Hmmm, it was just plausible enough to be the right answer, but who would want to do that to me? </p>
<p>The cats? No, they consider food their priority and, despite my many faults (in their evil feline eyes), I am their main source of pouch-opening and dispensing. </p>
<p>My other half? Oh, she could do it alright, but the risk of rolling onto the spiny shark herself would be quite high. Unless she had spiny shark poison antidote. But the spiny shark poison antidote shop has been shut for years. No, it couldn’t be her.</p>
<p><img src=That only left the spiny shark salesman that I refused to buy a spiny shark from just last week and who then swore that he would get me back somehow while holding up a diagram of me in bed with a spiny shark and a lightning bolt in my leg with "spiny shark poison" written on it. It was just a little too obvious though.

In the absence of puncture marks or part of a spiny shark embedded in my thigh or bed I concluded it was … not a spiny shark.

Alien Abduction

I know what you’re thinking: wouldn’t a sign of alien abduction cause a pain in the anal passage rather than the thigh?

Usually, I would say – based on much prior experience – that you would be right to think those thoughts but it’s important to remember that there are a great many aliens out there abducting, probing, inseminating, selling space cookies, and recruiting for distant intergalactic war based on success at arcade games (remind me to tell you about the time I helped the giant frog people of Frogoppoloid 4 cross a road and log-filled river to freedom and the not-so-enjoyable foam party they put on afterwards.) Some aliens probe in the traditional manner and others unscrew the belly-button and insert the monitoring insect that way. Some aliens kidnap prominent scientists to ensure our level of technology does not become a threat to galactic alien-probe movie makers while other aliens flash their alien bits at drunken hicks just because they can.

Could it be so difficult to consider that I was plucked from my slumber by a clumsy alien who then walked into me with his fifth beak? Obviously, it was too difficult to consider this a real possibility as the five-beaked aliens are insanely tall and really quite graceful. Clearly, it wasn’t aliens then.

By the time I had contemplated these suspects for my predicament and then discarded each one the pain had gone. Weird.

Author: Mark

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1 Comment

  1. OMG.
    Ok Mark, i WAS feeling very down in the dumps just ten minutes ago.
    And now i am sitting here, grin on mush, and wondering how on earth you manage to write something this long, involved, clever, funny, witty and down right chortletastic about cramp.
    Where you spike milligan in another life?
    Is spike dead?
    Who knows, you decide.

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