Once Upon a Time there was a Handsome Prince, being held captive as a slave at sinister and evil nuclear castle. Part of the Prince's job was cleaning the stables. Have you ever seen the size of a nuclear turd? Anyway, another job was seeing to the needs of the kingdoms guests.
One day an elderly gentleman was exiting the castle and cause all types of radiation alarms at the gate. The captive prince was summoned immediately to see to the issue at hand.
Upon closer inspection, it was determined that the issue was not "at hand", but curiously "at crotch". Somewhat dismayed, the prince knew that further inspection would be necessary. So off the prince went with the friendly but sligthly befuddled guest in tow. Upon arriving at a secret chamber reserved for activities of unspeakable delicacy, the gentleman was asked to remove the offending tunic so that it could be properly contained. Following this and upon closer inspection, it was determined that the tunic was clean! The man's loincloth which still girded his loins however, was not.
Careful measurements determineed that the offending levels of contamination were actually higher under the clothing. What manner of trickery was this?! Had a witch cast an evil spell? Something foul was afoot. The loins must now be ungrided, much to the dismay of BOTH parties. Carefully assessment showed all too disparigingly, that the loin cloth itself was also clean. The loins, lain bare, were the actual sorce of offense. Careful cleaning would be necessary. The metal drawer of the iron chest was pulled forcefully open under the full frustration now felt by the prince. Expecting to find non-alergetic soap and a surgeons scrubbrush, both the prince and his now shrinking guest were horrified that the instruments of choice for the cleaning had been replaced by an old wire brush, and a rusty box knife. With knees buckling, and loins shriveling like raisins drying in the autum sun, the prince was quick to explain the items of torture were not to be used on skin, but had probably been left from a previous day of boot cleaning.
The prince, being an extremely clever fellow, after-all, being royalty in his own right, thought of solving this dilema with the chanting of a single phrase. A simple question was pro-offered which may evaporate all requirements of the groin cleaning which now loomed inevetable. Have you been recently treated with a medical isotope of radioactivity? Water soluable perhaps? The answer was quick and sharp and disheartening, "NO, I have not".
"But the missus has, just last week". Miracle of miracles, the spell was broken, the loins were quickly re-girded and the man ushered on his merry way. For we all know that all radioactivity is not created or treated equally in the eyes of the divine. And what the man had recieved from his merry-making with his merry wife, he was allowed to keep. However there is a moral for the butcher, milkman and stablehands. And the baker.
