Can you imagine what would happen if two brothers (a carpenter and a hypochondriac) lived together and somehow their mail got all mixed up, sending the carpenter to the doctor when he thought he was going to see his accountant. I think it might go something like this:
Carpenter: Hello.
Doctor: Hello, Mr Umbruglia. Do take a seat.
Carpenter: Thank you. What did you want to see me about?
Doctor: There's no use beating about the bush, Mr Umbruglia. It's about your stools.
Carpenter: What about them?
Doctor: I've examined a sample and I'm afraid that I can't find anything wrong with them.
Carpenter: I should think not!
Doctor: Well there's no need to be like that.
Carpenter: I'll have you know that my stools are the talk of the town!
Doctor: What? How very strange.
Carpenter: I've left three in the local pub so far and everyone who's seen them says they're spectacular.
Doctor: Do you usually er 'leave' your stools in the pub?
Carpenter: No, not usually, but recently there was a fracas and the publican asked me if I could come around and supply him with some more.
Doctor: A fracas?
Carpenter: Aparrently some patrons got out of line and started throwing their stools around!
Doctor: Thank heavens i'm not a drinker. Mr Umbruglia, how would you say you are at making stools?
Carpenter: I can make three or four a day if i'm lucky.
Doctor: Really? That many?
Carpenter: Of course, it's the shellacking that takes the time.
Doctor: I beg your pardon?
Carpenter: Well you have to shellac them, don't you, otherwise they won't last very long.
Doctor: No, I suppose not. Do you have any difficulty producing them?
Carpenter: No, I just pop them out easy.
I could go on all day, but I won't.
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