A fat bird started chatting me up in the club last night and I mentioned I'd just had my birthday this week. "Well, happy birthday, sexy," she purred, stroking down my chest. "If I come back to yours tonight, could you put a smile on my face?" "Probably not," I told her. "There's no f*cking cake left."
I suppose I’m in the minority, but I always lick the knife when I’m finished. None of the other surgeons seem to do it.