A Mute

A mute was walking down the street one day and chanced upon a friend of his; also a mute.

In sign language, he inquired how his friend had been doing. The friend replied (vocally!)

“Oh, can that hand-waving shit. I can talk now!”

Intrigued, the mute pressed him for details. Seems he had gone to a specialist, who, seeing no physical damage, had put him on a treatment program that had restored the use of his vocal chords. Gesturing wildly, the mute asked if he might meet this specialist.

They got an appointment that very afternoon. After an exam, the specialist proclaimed that he had found no permanent damage. The mute was essentially in the same condition as his buddy, and that there was no reason why he couldn’t be helped as well.

“Yes, yes” signed the mute. “Let’s have the first treatment right now!”

“Very well,” replied the specialist. “Kindly go into the next room, drop your pants and lean over the examining table. I’ll be right in.”

The mute does as instructed, and the doctor snuck in carrying a broomstick, a mallet and a jar of Vaseline. Greasing the broom handle, he ‘sent it home’ with a deft swipe of the mallet.

The mute jumped from the table, screaming,

“AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”

“VERY good,” smiled the doctor. “Next Tuesday, we work on ‘B’.”