A mute was walking down the street one day and chanced upon a friend of his (also a mute).
In sign language, he inquired how his friend had been doing. The friend replied (vocally!), “Oh, you can that hand-waving shit. I can talk now!”
Intrigued, the mute pressed him for details. It seems that he had gone to a specialist, who, seeing no physical damage, had put him on a treatment program that had restored the use of his vocal chords. Gesturing wildly, the mute asked if he might meet this specialist. They got an appointment that very afternoon.
After an exam, the specialist proclaimed that there was no permanent damage, that the mute was essentially in the same condition as his buddy, and that there was no reason why he couldn’t be helped as well.
“Yes, yes” signed the mute. “Let’s have the first treatment right now!”
“Very well,” replies the specialist.
“Kindly go into the next room, drop your pants and lean over the examining table. I’ll be right in.”
The mute does as instructed and the doctor sneaks in with a broomstick, mallet, and jar of Vaseline. Greasing the broom handle, he “sends it home” with a few deft swipes of the mallet.
The mute jumps from the table, screaming, “AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa!!!”
“VERY good,” smiles the doctor.
“Next Tuesday, we start with ‘B'”