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Mr Jones
Mr. Jones gets a call from the hospital. They tell him his wife's been in a terrible car accident. He rushes to the hospital, runs into the ER and says his wife's been in an accident. They tell him Dr. Smith is handling the case. They page the doctor. He comes out to the waiting room to see a terribly upset Mr. Jones. "Mr. Jones?" the doctor asks. "Yes sir, what's happened? How is my wife?" The doctor sits next to him and says, "Not good news. Your wife's accident resulted in two fractures of her spine." "Oh my God" says Mr. Jones, "what will be her prognosis?" Dr. Smith says "Well, Mr. Jones, her vital signs are stable. However, her spine is inoperable. She'll have no motor skills or capability. This means you will have to feed her." Mr. Jones begins to sob. "And you'll have to turn her in her bed every two hours to prevent pneumonia." Mr. Jones begins to wail and cry loudly. "Then, of course," the doctor continued, "you'll have to diaper her as she'll have no control over her bladder and of course these diapers must be changed at least five times a day." Mr. Jones begins to shake as he cries, sobs, wails. The doctor continues: "And you'll have to clean up her feces on a regular basis as she'll have no control over her sphincters. Her bowel will engorge whenever and quite often I'm afraid. Of course you must clean her immediately to avoid accumulation of the putrid effluent she'll be emitting regularly." Now Mr. Jones is convulsing sobbing uncontrollably and beginning to wither off the bench into a sobbing pitiful mass. Just then Dr. Smith reaches out his hand and pats Mr. Jones on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm just fucking with you, she's dead." 
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