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Sundae · 02-28-2011, 02:21 PM

I first met Shawnee on an elective surgery ward.
I was in for anal bleaching - I never heard what she was in for and the first rule of elective surgery is you never talk about elective surgery. The second rule is of course you show the scars to anyone who does ask.

She woke me up, truth be told. She was high on something (following her surgery I presume) and calling for beers and pot and strippers. Part of me admired her spirit, and the other part of me thought "Shut the fuck up bitch, some of us have Drainol up the chuffer and need to sleep."

As I came around the second time I was amazed to see that her demands had been granted. I started yelling for Shakespeare and afternoon tea, and possibly John Barrowman. I would have screamed til my throat bled, but Shawnee, in a fit of conscience unusual for her, informed me that her treats were actually from grateful clients and nothing to do with the hospital we were paying over the odds to stay in.

Turns out Shawnee was a go-between, matching students with available grants for a commission. Of course it was mostly the rich, who would pay $500 in order to save $1000 who were her main customers. Lord alone knows what they made of her requests for Mr Incredible or Santa Claus lookalikes smeared with engine oil to fondle (I have no idea who she had in mind) and I'm not sure whether the nurses really approved of the clouds of smoke billowing from her bed and making all of us cakle like laying hens.

But I can't deny her largesse. She left me with a pile of lobsters (cockroach of the sea she said) and a case of French Piss (aka champagne) with which she suggested I might want to douche.

I don't think I've ever met a lady with such earthy charm.
And given the suppurting sores I've been left with, I'll certainly not being going back to our meeting place.

02-28-2011, 02:21 PM	#20
Sundae polaroid of perfection Join Date: Sep 2005 Location: West Yorkshire Posts: 24,185	I first met Shawnee on an elective surgery ward. I was in for anal bleaching - I never heard what she was in for and the first rule of elective surgery is you never talk about elective surgery. The second rule is of course you show the scars to anyone who does ask. She woke me up, truth be told. She was high on something (following her surgery I presume) and calling for beers and pot and strippers. Part of me admired her spirit, and the other part of me thought "Shut the fuck up bitch, some of us have Drainol up the chuffer and need to sleep." As I came around the second time I was amazed to see that her demands had been granted. I started yelling for Shakespeare and afternoon tea, and possibly John Barrowman. I would have screamed til my throat bled, but Shawnee, in a fit of conscience unusual for her, informed me that her treats were actually from grateful clients and nothing to do with the hospital we were paying over the odds to stay in. Turns out Shawnee was a go-between, matching students with available grants for a commission. Of course it was mostly the rich, who would pay $500 in order to save $1000 who were her main customers. Lord alone knows what they made of her requests for Mr Incredible or Santa Claus lookalikes smeared with engine oil to fondle (I have no idea who she had in mind) and I'm not sure whether the nurses really approved of the clouds of smoke billowing from her bed and making all of us cakle like laying hens. But I can't deny her largesse. She left me with a pile of lobsters (cockroach of the sea she said) and a case of French Piss (aka champagne) with which she suggested I might want to douche. I don't think I've ever met a lady with such earthy charm. And given the suppurting sores I've been left with, I'll certainly not being going back to our meeting place.