The Returned Knee

Arthur's knee is complete rubbish, so he returns it

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Arthur limped into the Royal Infirmary, clutching a receipt from 1954.

"I want a refund," he barked at a nurse whose face was a map of disappointment.

"On what, sir? Your face perhaps?”

"My left knee. Look at the shape of it! It’s all knobbly, like a bag of wet walnuts. It doesn't match the right one. The right one is a masterpiece of joinery; the left is a structural insult."

"Sir, you were born with it."

"Exactly! Faulty goods from the start. I want it exchanged for something more aerodynamic. Preferably mahogany."

The nurse sighed and pointed. "Try Carpentry."