While making rounds, a doctor points out an X-ray to a group of medical students.
“As you can see,” she says, “the patient limps because his left fibula and tibia are radically arched. Michael, what would you do in a case like this?”
“Well,” ponders the student, “I suppose I’d limp too.”
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Two Proctologists were at a medical conference in a resort in outback Australia.
They decided to enjoy the local highlights from the back of a camel for $ A 20.
The owner warned them that the camel was highly trained to do the rounds of the town, stop briefly at the highlights, then return them to the start of the ride. Under no circumstances, he warned them, were they to get off the camel, otherwise it would return to it’s home to eat grass.
After some time there was no sign of the camel or doctors and people in queue for the ride were complaining. The owner was losing a lot of money. Eventually the two doctors could be seen forlornly walking back to the operator.
“Please don’t tell me you got off?” asked the owner incredulously when they arrived.
“We’re sorry, but we did” they said together, despondently.
“But why?…Why would you get off when I told you not to?!”
“Well…the camel slowed down at a sight…and a man came along in a Holden, wound the window down, and yelled, ‘Look at the two arseholes on the camel!’…and ……… well, we couldn’t resist having a look!”
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For weeks, Jamie had worked on the final essay—drafting, editing, second-guessing every word.
When he finally submitted it, Jamie felt a flicker of pride. Three days later, he got the paper back with a single note scribbled in red ink across the top: “Needs Improvement.”
No comments. No suggestions. Just that. Cold. Brutal.
Confused, a little crushed, Jamie rewrote the entire essay. He restructured his arguments, added clearer transitions, changed the conclusion. He even checked the punctuation with a grammar plugin he didn’t fully trust. Then, he submitted it again.
Two days later—same result. “Needs Improvement.”
This time, frustration flared. Jamie spent a full weekend reworking it line by line. He buried himself in the library, pulled academic references from obscure journals, refined every sentence like it was a poem. He didn’t just improve the essay—he transformed it. Font. Format. Flow. Everything.
When he printed the final version, it looked like something that should be framed.
Jamie marched into professor’s office and placed it firmly on the desk.
“This is it,” he said, almost breathless. “I have read it twenty times. Cross-checked every source. Triple-proofed every paragraph. This is the best I’ve ever written—possibly the best I can write. If this still needs improvement, I’m not sure what else to give.”
The professor looked up from a pile of papers, raised an eyebrow, and slowly took the essay.
He nodded once.
“Alright,” he said calmly, “I guess I’ll actually read it this time.”
