doing-90mph-in-central-london:
if he was still alive I know in my heart that Terry Pratchett would have done a bit about Igors and Igorinas doing gender confirmation surgery by now. going into a lab full of bubbling vials and picking out a penis from a tank the way you pick a lobster. that one, please. you gotta be careful though because they’ll really try to upsell you into getting two or three installed. people going to the clinic as pairs and just having parts swapped out for a discounted rate. maybe you actually just trade brains, that’s even easier. Igorth have already been doing that thurgery for thenturieth.
#one day an igor forgets the lock the cage and a pack of penises escapes into ankh-morpork#the watch spends the next three weeks rounding them up
how DARE you leave this in the tags (affectionate)
Everyone knew it was best not to look too closely at Igor’s jars.
Vimes was beginning to wish he had looked more closely at the most recent additions before Igor came lurching up the stairs to inform him:
“They have ethcaped, thir.”
“Escaped. What has escaped, Igor.”
“Thome of my.. appendageth, thir.”
“Appendages.”
“Yeth, thir. Of the… intimate variety.”
“Of the intimate…” Vimes trailed off as the dawning horror overwhelmed his vocal cords.
He rallied. “Igor. HOW have they escaped? They are not known for their… perambulatory abilities.”
“Really, thir? I’ve alwayth found them to have a mind of their own at timeth.”
Vimes was staying calm. Yes. That was it. He was staying very calm. Definitely NOT thinking AT ALL about how Vetinari and… Good lord, The Times, would react to marauding pack of penises. Would it be a pack? Or would they go off on their own?
“I wath exthperimenting with cuthtom grown oneth, you know. For thothe who cannot grow their own.”
“Err… what? Of course you were. I mean. Very good.”