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Hello Folks,

As the Amsterdam hangover fades, Gingerfightback continues to leave no stone unturned in our incessant quest for the truth. Fearless reporting, bribery and fabrication are in our armoury.

Brian Sewer, plummy mouthed onanist,found this version of the Mona Lisa in Arles in Southern France.  It has been carbon dated back as far as 1967 and the canvass is an authentic Cornflakes cereal packet. This is how Da Vinci Code really wanted his painting to end up.

As Brain said, “Note the brushwork, the enigmatic smile on her lips and above all the signature that rearranged, would spell Da Vinci.  It has to be authentic. I rest my case. Where’s the bar?”

What do YOU think art connoisseurs? FAKE or REAL?

 

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Goose

Thanks to everyone who read Parts 1 and 2 of the latest Tight Fisted Traveller – I hope you found it as much fun to read as it was for me to daydream about and then piece together last weekend. 

I’ve spent the day on a train full of nutters and need a pint or two to soothe me savage breast – hence this lazy cop out of a post.

I did think of a better ending though – but that pint of Donnington SBA is calling – so it can wait.

If you have any suggestions where the Tight Fisted Traveller should venture next please feel free to drop me a line. He may go there. He may not!

Enjoy…….

Hello

With the Soccerball World Cup in Brazil next year, Ma Fightback and I fancied a holiday in this Sambatastic nation. My kneecap melted when the Travel Agent told us the cost of the holiday. We left the shop dejected and a tad miffed.

Luckily around the corner, we bumped into our old friend and explorer extraordinaire, The Tight Fisted Traveller, busy hawking holed spoons to raise funds for an expedition to the Antarctic next year. When we told him of our woes, he smiled revealing his last usable incisor, fished in the crotch of his trousers and whipped out his hardback – “The Coke Smuggler’s Guide to Latin America”.

A lucky coincidence? Or maybe the fates!

Here is Chapter 23 – “Brazil It’s An Amazon Place!”

Day 1 – London – Steal a bicycle from Victoria Station – nip to French mens outfitter’s “Moi?” – purloin traditional French garb of beret, Breton shirt, moustache and string of onions – stare in shop window and practice nonplussed facial expression whilst shrugging shoulders – I am French!

Day 1 – London – Bike ride to Dover hampered by dangling onions – but I am French now so shrug shoulders and blockade motorway to protest.

Day 3 – Dover Harbour  – Stowaway on French Minesweeper SS “Mai Oui”.

A Typical Frenchman - well if you're gonna do a cliche do it properly

Day 4 – English Channel – My disguise allows me to mingle with the crew who smoke continually, argue about the true meaning of Sartre and make lots of vegetable soup which is slurped down with Gallic aplomb.

Day 5 – English Channel – The crew take me to heart after Je suis discovered akip in torpedo tube – sing the Edith Piaf classic – “A Citroen Backfires – Paris Surrenders” become overnight internet sensation on Vous Tube.

Day 6 – Cherbourg – no sign of Cher sadly – I am smuggled ashore by crew who wish to continue discussing Sartre and their nation’s affliction for permanent nonplussedness. After emotional farewells which involve mass spontaneous shoulder shrugging I cycle south for Spain.

Day 8 – Cherbourg (still) – Dangling onions still a problem and the false moustache causing further drag issues on Bike – c’est la vie – stop and blockade service station toilets in protest.

Day 9 – Cherbourg (still) – Tour de France sweeps through – Stage 14 to Reims – I join the Peloton – miraculously win the stage and claim the Yellow Jersey. Cite Lance Armstrong and Amphetamine abuse as major factors in my success.

Day 10 Reims –  I am uncovered when my dangling onions accidentally throttle leading French rider in Stage 15 – chased by baying mob of French onion loving cyclist philosophers who see this as ghastly les rosbifs attack on a French sporting institution (but the philosophers ask “is it?”) – Make good my escape by removing the onions from bike and take off false moustache – they’ll never spot me!

Day 10 – Reims- Arrested by French police. Blockade my cell in protest.

Day 13 – Reims – Released – hitch hike south – am offered a lift by Heineken sozzled Dutch shykling fansh – Wim and Piet Mine Der Gap  who are following the Tour – Their camper van roof  sports a giant detachable clog and a windmill – “Krayshee Ja!” Wim and Piet keep saying – I am hidden in Windmill as we pass through the Pyrenees into Espana. Now I know what Anne Frank must have gone through.

Day 31 – The Spanish Pyrenees – Wim and Piet spin on blades of windmill for three days singing the back catalogue of well known Dutch Prog rock band Focus – they swear rotary turbine spinning cures any hangover  – I decouple giant clog and slip quietly into the River Sangria and raft to Madrid.

clogboat

Day 33 – Somewhere in Iberia –  Sailing by clog surprisingly comfortable – draw admiring glances from Spanish Environmentalists who are protesting about tomatoes being grown in greenhouses along riverbanks.

Day 37 – Madrid – How a Brit, disguised as a Frenchman arriving in a giant clog could be construed to be the famous bullfighter “El Flatulente” is beyond me – but I am – carried shoulder high to Las Ventas for a spot of “Death in the Afternoon”.

Day 37 Madrid – Bullfighting clothes very tight on the old knackers – mince my way into the ring – confronted by a livid Bull called “El Mangler” – my bowels loosen –  prance like John Wayne with piles – realise my sword is actually a shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries – I have to make the droning noise myself – El Mangler sees the sword, recalls he is part Sith and then does a passable Darth Vader impression – becomes internet sensation on Tu Tube – I am carried shoulder high by adoring fans out of the arena – with only a wonky shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries as a trophy.

greenhouses

Day 38 – Madrid – I hitch a lift in a lorry driven by a reticent Serb war criminal, Goran – cargo is artificially grown tomatoes hidden in statues of Picasso.

Day 41 – Lisbon – scurry aboard Recife bound ship “Obrigado” – the principal cargo is buttock emollient cream, samba costumes and whistles – wriggle into a nice floral headpiece, matching sequinned bra and thong – No problems of blending into Brazilian culture when I land.

butt

Day 43 – The Obrigado – Unmasked by Boson as not “Hector” the vessel’s happy go lucky First Mate but as a non-paying transgender guest with well-honed buttocks – thrown in The Brig.

Day 43 – The Obrigado  – Brought to ship’s captain – he is an unreconstructed romantic who is in a state of high dudgeon after reading the Bronte Classic Jane Eyre – he clutches me to his swelling breast and sobs uncontrollably – “Poor Rochester,” he cries – tells me of his loon of a wife – a woman with a predilection for salty old tars – she is sealed away in ship’s bulkhead on account of her madness and “needs”.

Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-Jane-Eyre-2011-michael-fassbender-25911613-1920-1040

Day 46 – The Obrigado – Mass panic as Captain’s wife escapes and ravishes the ships Bursar, First and Second Mate, Boson, Petty Officer, Cook and a lad who happened to be passing in a Tuna fishing boat she spotted on the starboard bow – swam over to and ravished – she is captured and restored to her cell – the Captain sobs – I read him extracts from Wuthering Heights – “Poor Cathy,” he cries.

Day 50 – Recife Harbour-  Leave Obrigado – Captain donates lifetime supply of emollient and shiny new headwear to thank me for my support – his wife ravishes me before I skip ashore – “Poor Cathy” are the last words I hear from this doomed vessel.

Day 51 – Trans-Amazonian Highway – Sashay my way towards Belem – my bottom is revered by a nation of buttock cognoscenti.

Day 54 – Belem – Join Samba dance band impressed by my strong calves – band rooted in bizarre Marxist theory that believes buttock wobbling in camp outfits will eventually destroy capitalism – I have my doubts.

Day 68 – Mouth of Amazon – Say farewell to my Samba Band colleagues with a toot on my whistle – Capitalism still intact I believe –  chop down big tree – shape it into giant clog and paddle towards Manaus.

Useful Tip in the Rain Forest #1 Never paddle in a thong

Day 71 The Amazon – See off attack from shoal of synchronised swimming enthusiast Piranhas by dazzling them with my  sequin studded brassiere – smear myself in emollient to fend off flesh-eating insects and mosquitos.

Day 75 – Fishing village of Maracaibo – Befriended by Geoff a double glazing salesman from Cornwall who. “turned left at Plymouth instead of  right” – barter my whistle with him for a set of triple glazed French windows he happens to be carrying – lash them to clog and sail up the Amazon!

Day 80 – Manaus – Leave clog and trek into Forest – see all types of creatures – Jaguars, Monkeys, Lions, Tigers, Penguins, Polar Bears, even a Giraffe – realise I am in Manaus Zoo and head for exit – easy mistake to make. Turn left at MacDonalds and find myself deep in the Rain Forest.

Useful Tip in the Rain Forest #2 – Never walk in a thong and stilettos in the Rain Forest.

Day 84 – Somewhere In the Rain Forest – Felled by dart fired from blowpipe – fall into delirious fever – imagine erotic romps with Bilbo Baggins.

Day 86 – Somewhere in the Rain Forest – Fever breaks and awake to find short lad with big ears and enormous feet next to me! I am in Middle Earth!

Day 86 – Somewhere in the Rain Forest – Lad wakes up and smiles – he can only communicate by twanging his inordinately long nasal hairs in complex melodies – I discover his name is Whothefuckareyou? Chief of a long lost tribe who still don’t have a clue where they are – The Wherethefuckarewe?

Day 86 – Somewhere in the Rain Forest – I am the first white man in samba outfit with smooth buttocks the Wherethefuckarewe? have encountered – I am worshipped as their long lost God and christened Wherethefuckdidhecomefrom?

Day 87 – Somewhere In the Rain Forest – The Wherethefuckarewe? are a proud people – traditional costume is an Adidas Shellsuit – it is good to see that they have not been tainted by western culture –  Whothefuckareyou? organises a feast in my honour!

tribe

Day 88 – Somewhere In The Rain Forest – The feast comprises the traditional Amazonian dish of Burger and Chips washed down with a highly intoxicating liquor made by fermenting the bark of dogs – we partake in a fertility dance with a number of toothless harpies – nasal hairs plucked with such ferocity – Before passing out all I recall is  a nasal hair plucking rendition of The Hokey Cokey, followed by Hi Ho Silver Lining……..

Day 93 – Somewhere Else In the Rain Forest – Whothefuckareyou? leads me deep into the jungle – day after day I toil moving ever further from civilisation towards what? I know not – I am wilting – cannot go much further – chafed and blistered – my headgear a bit adrift – Finally he holds out a slightly wonky Light Sabre without batteries towards a clearing in the Forest.

Day 93 – Somewhere Else In The Rain Forest – A place of serene beauty – never before seen by a white man dressed in a samba outfit – giant statues – thousands of years old and bearing a remarkable resemblance to the cast of US Sitcom Friends – guard this place – I hear water nearby – Whothefuckareyou? twangs on his nose hair – the sounds tell me that we have reached the source of the Amazon – A washer is needed to stop the dripping – slightly disappointing.

I think of Simon Cowell with a sausage on his head.

simon_cowell goetta copy

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Goose

Hello

With the Soccerball World Cup in Brazil next year, Ma Fightback and I fancied a holiday in this Sambatastic nation. My kneecap melted when the Travel Agent told us the cost of the holiday. We left the shop dejected and a tad miffed.

Luckily, around the corner we bumped into our old friend and explorer extraordinaire, The Tight Fisted Traveller, busy hawking holed spoons to raise funds for an expedition to the Antarctic next year. When we told him of our woes, he smiled revealing his last usable incisor, fished in the crotch of his trousers and whipped out his hardback – “The Coke Smugglers Guide to Latin America”.

A lucky coincidence? Or maybe the fates!

Here is Chapter 23 – “Brazil It’s An Amazon Place!”

Day 1 – London – Steal a bicycle from Victoria Station – nip to French mens outfitter’s “Moi?” – purloin traditional French garb of beret, Breton shirt, moustache and string of onions – stare in shop window and practice nonplussed facial expression whilst shrugging shoulders – I am French!

Day 1 – London – Bike ride to Dover hampered by dangling onions – but I am French now so shrug shoulders and blockade motorway to protest.

Day 3 – Dover Harbour  – Stowaway on French Minesweeper SS “Mai Oui”.

A Typical Frenchman - well if you're gonna do a cliche do it properly

Day 4 – English Channel – My disguise allows me to mingle with the crew who smoke continually, argue about the true meaning of Sartre and make lots of vegetable soup which is slurped down with Gallic aplomb.

Day 5 – English Channel – The crew take me to heart after Je suis discovered akip in torpedo tube – sing the Edith Piaf classic – “A Citroen Backfires – Paris Surrenders” become overnight internet sensation on Vous Tube.

Day 6 – Cherbourg – no sign of Cher sadly – I am smuggled ashore by crew who wish to continue discussing Sartre and their nation’s affliction for permanent nonplussedness. After emotional farewells which involve mass spontaneous shoulder shrugging I cycle south for Spain.

Day 8 – Cherbourg (still)  – Dangling onions still a problem and the false moustache causing further drag issues on Bike – c’est la vie – stop and blockade service station toilets in protest.

Day 9 – Cherbourg (still) – Tour de France sweeps through – Stage 14 to Reims – I join the Peloton – miraculously win the stage and claim the Yellow Jersey. Cite Lance Armstrong and Amphetamine abuse as major factors in my success.

Day 10 Reims –  I am uncovered when my dangling onions accidentally throttle leading French rider in Stage 15 – chased by baying mob of French onion loving cyclist philosophers who see this as ghastly les rosbifs attack on a French sporting institution (but the philosophers ask “is it?”) – Make good my escape by removing the onions from bike and take off false moustache – they’ll never spot me!

Day 10 – Reims-  Arrested by French police. Blockade my cell in protest.

Day 13 – Reims – Released – hitch hike south – am offered a lift by Heineken sozzled Dutch shykling fansh – Wim and Piet Mine Der Gap  who are following the Tour – Their camper van roof  sports a giant detachable clog and a windmill – “Krayshee Ja!” Wim and Piet keep saying – I am hidden in Windmill as we pass through the Pyrenees into Espana. Now I know what Anne Frank must have gone through.

Day 31 – The Spanish Pyrenees – Wim and Piet spin on blades of windmill for three days singing the back catalogue of well known Dutch Prog rock band Focus – they swear rotary turbine spinning cures any hangover  – I decouple giant clog and slip quietly into the River Sangria and raft to Madrid.

clogboat

Day 33 – Somewhere in Iberia –  Sailing by clog surprisingly comfortable – draw admiring glances from Spanish Environmentalists who are protesting about tomatoes being grown in greenhouses along riverbanks.

Day 37 – Madrid – How a Brit, disguised as a Frenchman arriving in a giant clog could be construed to be the famous bullfighter “El Flatulente” is beyond me – but I am – carried shoulder high to Las Ventas for a spot of “Death in the Afternoon”.

Day 37 Madrid – Bullfighting clothes very tight on the old knackers – mince my way into the ring – confronted by a livid Bull called “El Mangler” – my bowels loosen –  prance like John Wayne with piles – realise my sword is actually a shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries – I have to make the droning noise myself – El Mangler sees the sword, recalls he is part Sith and then does a passable Darth Vader impression – becomes internet sensation on Tu Tube – I am carried shoulder high by adoring fans out of the arena – with only a wonky shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries as a trophy.

greenhouses

Day 38 – Madrid – I hitch a lift in a lorry driven by a reticent Serb war criminal, Goran – cargo is artificially grown tomatoes hidden in statues of Picasso.

Part 2 Tomorrow! To Lisbon and Beyond……..

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Je Suis David!

Becks_ginger

Je Suis Un Petite Pouty

Posh_ginger

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Agnes DuPont tells us more about her previous lives!!!!!! Read other lies here and here!.

To connect with previous lives, Agnes eats cheese and brocoli. Separately.

Hello People,

Last Wednesday I was in the Greengrocer’s buying apples, oranges, parsnips and bananas.

As I was handing over my money to Barney the Greengrocer, a very nice man with knock knees, I felt a tad woozy and wobbly. When it had gone, I was on the floor, legs akimbo, surrounded by root vegetables, but with an overwhelming urge to conquer Europe.

The spirit of Napoleon Bonaparte had entered me!

He really is a cheeky little Corsican is Boney! Before I could say “Not tonight Josephine” I boarded the 149 bus and set an eastward course to conquer Austria and Hungary whilst at the same time devising a metricated measuring system and perfecting the kiss curl.

I think i was accompanied by my Imperial Guard – all fine brocaded men sporting heavy calves and brandy breath.

As I hummed the fine Abba tune “Waterloo”, (little was I to know!) my epic journey of conquest was cut short when the bus broke down outside the Duke of Wellington in Shoreditch High Street. Ironic really.

I had to walk home but finally understood the wonders of the metric system.

No longer will I be enslaved by the ounce!

You may think I am a fantasist who eats cheese and broccoli long into the night……….I would beg to differ.

Regards,

Agnes

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As regular readers will know, Fanny writes from a prison cell in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. Despite the ongoing advances of Le Prison Gouveneur, she remains in good spirits, mostly 100% proof vodka. Here is another Christmas cooking tip.

Dear Fanny,

My wife left me this week because she found out I’m quite fond of dressing up as a lady of the night. This didn’t go down too well at our daughter’s nativity play and wifey chose to leave me.

Anyway, the problem is I’ve got a 32lb turkey defrosting for the big day and I’m at a loss as to what to do with the leftovers. I’ve got a lovely little black and gold trim negligee to wear on New Years Eve!

Paul, Upper Ramsbottom.

Dear Paul.

As I write from my cell I can’t help but think of you in your negligee and what a fine sight that would be.

Unfortunately I’m resigned to spending my Yuletide in the company of miscreants. Alas all is not lost as my cell mate, Marcledreuxleix, has brewed a rather fine batch of hooch made from fermented snail urine, scrotul cornflakes and leftover hard boiled eggs. Marvellous!!

Boxing day Turkey, Ham, Leek and Tarragon Pie.

Combine cooked leeks, a splash of white wine, half a cup of chicken stock.

Add your leftover turkey and ham, simmer then add creme fraiche and chopped tarragon. Heat and serve topped with a (shop bought puff pastry) crispy, golden brown pie lid.

Scrummy

Merry Noel!

Le Rougecrack

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SHE’S BACK!

My Dearest foodlovers. I write today from a prison cell in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. One had tried to explain to the arresting Gendarme that what one had found down one’s drawers might resemble a Perigord black truffle but was, alas, a rather invasive little growth that had become detached from one’s person. Anyway, after several “meetings” in the prison laundrette Le Prison Gouveneur has very kindly allowed me to answer some of your Christmas queries.

Joyeux Noel to you all.
 
Le Fanny Rougecrack

Dear Fanny.

It’s that time of year again when as a family we have to endure a whole day with my wife’s 96 year old Mother. She does nothing but moan. I don’t why we bother sometimes.  Goodwill to all blah..de..blah but quite frankly I’m sick of her. How can I avoid her all day without making it too obvious that I can’t stand her.

Happy Christmas,

Dave from Dundee

Fanny Replies 

Dear Dave,

An age old dilemma. Let’s face it the chances of her being there for many more are diminishing by the day. So I suggest you bite your lip and give the old dear a Christmas she’ll never forget.

Give her a glass of sherry, stick a hat on her head and sit her in the corner.

Regardez Fanny
More Fanny (with cookery tips!) can be found here!

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Gfb has trawled the records of literally people and discovered some amazing connections which will truly astound you.

So without further ado – ARE THESE PEOPLE RELATED?

Michael Collins and Jackie Collins.

He was the gorgeous face of Republicanism a man who took on and defeated the British Empire, went out with Julia Roberts. And then got shot.

Michael and Julia together - before he was shot

She is the Queen of the Bonkbuster, sister of Joan and can write big words as well as little ones. Her new novel “A Woman Off Substances” is out this week.

Did you know that the Irish Constitution has a torrid sex scene in it (halfway down page 3 after voting rights for non domiciles) involving a woman called Lucky Chance and a hairy chested rock musician called Stryker Malone.

Did Big Mick ask Jackie C to write this section as he thought a bit of rumpy pumpy would lighten the spirits of repressed Catholics across the land? If true, it proves they were related. Uncanny isn’t it!

 Emile Zola and Gianfranco Zola

He is the great French novelist, whose works include The Earth, Germinal, Therese Raquin, Tin Tin, Asterix, the screenplay of Amelie and the words to Frere Jacques.

Don’t Make Emile Of It!

He is the impish Italian footballer who hopped, skipped and sashayed his way into our hearts with his tricks, flicks and pixie loveliness. His bestselling book “I  is from Sardinia and I like the Sardines,” is a great guide to cooking sardines.

 

He’s Only Little!

Did You Know!

Emile Zola invented the penalty spot and centre circle on a football pitch. He wrote, “On Mon Tete Son,” the first published account of a French writer’s lover affair avec le beautiful game.

If true it is Uncanny! Were they related? You Decide!

 

Jane Austen and Steve Austin (close enough for the pedants out there!)

She is arguably the greatest Romantic novelist in the English Language.

Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility – all great reads. Rollicking even. 

 

He was barely alive. We rebuilt him. He could run so fast it looked like he was in slow motion. His wig never came off too!

With his bionic eye he could see for yonks (once spotting Jane Eyre as she was leaving Mr Rochester some two hundred miles away).

 

“Wooden?”

Did You Know?

In the early drafts of Pride and Prejudice, Mr D’Arcy was depicted as a half man half robot with earwax build up.  And the cad Mr Wickham was an astronaut who wrote mournful poetry!

The pilot show for The Six Million Dollar Man, depicted Lee Majors character as a 19th Century Dandy! A Fop if you will! Sadly this ended up on the cutting room floor.

Can they be related? You Decide!

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Ailing French President, “Tricky” Nicky Sarkozy has played a dastardly final card in his increasingly desperate bid to cling to power in France.

BANNING GINGERS!

As he trails bitter rival Francois Hollande in les polls, the titchy titular head of the 5th Republic has expanded his recent decision to force Gingers into Burkhas by completely banning them from French life.

A World Without Gingers….

In a rally outside a Boules Court in Brittany, Sarkozy, standing on a box said, “Frere Jacques, Sur la Pont D’Avignon, le Tour d’Eiffel, creme fraiche, hoh he hon. C’est les merdes Gingers whoez isez toez blamez pour mon predicamon!”

To gasps from his ball chucking audience he then blurted, “Sacere bleu! Non ces soir Josephine, Maginot Line! Avez vous une cuppa? Onions.”

Why Give This Man A Platform?

 

Last year, Gfb’s France correspondent Gael Force-Winds revealed the imposition of Burkhas on Gingers by Sarko.

Sarkozy’s comments put him at odds with President Barack Obama who, in a speech in Grimsby this month, said that the U.S. prized freedom of hair colour: ‘We. Are not.  Going to tell people what colour. Their hair. Should be.’

He Is A Red!

A Typical Frenchman 
 
 

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Save the Planet! is their cry, Save the Polar Bear, Seal, Whale and Val Doonican! And how do they propose to do it?

If We Don't Act Now On Climate Change Ginger Mussels Are At Risk

BURNING GINGERS THAT’S HOW!

We have received a copy of a paper presented to the Davos Forum by Lauren Parapapompom, Head of Research for the French Government’s shadowy L’Insistitute D’Ecolologie et Humanananitaire.

The paper entitled “Gingers in a Low Carbon Future” (Ref; LDEH 10/08543236/3) highlights research conducted by the shadowy Institute of Human Smouldering (IHS) that shows Gingers have, on average, fifty percent less carbon in their bodies than non Gingers. It also indicates that controlled mass freckle release could aerate the earth’s atmosphere by 3%.

Gingers are a more efficient burning material than dinosaurs or your next door neighbour’s shower curtain.

The idea is controversial as Parapapompom admits, “But if we can secure the future of humankind and those lovely big eyed seals and fluffy polar bears by burning a few carrot tops, surely it is worth it?”

He went on, “We would recommend a seven tendril burn ratio in order to create initial heating and disposal requirements. Ash can be used to propagate food stations for Ginger cropping zones. It is considered feasible that this programme could breed red-haired people for eating (The McGinger has proved popular with focus groups) thus helping solve the world’s food production crisis as well! Ginger meat is leaner than Ostrich and makes a fine stew. Especially with dumplings.”

Breeder farms (AKA Cropping Areas) would be established in North West Africa where cropped Gingers would be used to fire specially constructed power stations GFPS (Ginger Fired Power Stations). Negotiations between the Moroccan, French and Spanish governments are underway.

Cooling Towers are to be disguised as giant ice cream cones.

Gfb also understand that the IHS has already been tasked with preparing feasibility studies for the use of Ginger skeletons as a basis for a nutritious soup, Gingerstrone.

Commenting on this option, the shadowy Organisation for African Backhanders said, “We have the room and the wherewithal for Ginger cropping. We love soup as well. Win! Win!”

Burning Gingers is not a recent phenomenon.

Aliens Mock Our Attempts To Reduce Carbon Emissions

Queen Victoria was a keen advocate of Ginger fires, as revealed in her private diaries. Her entry of November 12th 1846 states, “I do wish Albert would desist from fiddling with that chain around his vitals and turn his inventive mind to how we can burn more redheads to keep ourselves warm in Sandringham. It is perishing here.”

It's His Planet Too!

Prince Albert having completed his plans for his Great Genital Exhibition (Genital was removed as a peon to sensitivities at the time) ordered the establishment of The Ginger Commission of 1848.

The Commission, chaired by Lord St John of The Trouserpress, investigated the whole issue of firing Gingers and whilst the Quaker member (Nathaniel Tingaling) fiercely objected to the practice, Farmers, Chimney makers, bobble hat weavers and men known as “Red Tom” pressed for the practice to be retained.

As Ginger children were barred from picking horses teeth for food (a major source of nutrition at the time) or climb chimneys for soot supplements, they  earned a living by using their body parts as a kindle for fires in the homes of the landed gentry.

The famous Victorian nursery rhyme “Wobbly One Legged Ginger” captures the essence of the hordes of unbalanced redheads tottering around the countryside during this period.

“But pity the poor lass and careful you don’t singe her,

Don’t worry sir! For we’re to fire this Ginger!”

The Commission concluded;

“Without the practice of firing, there is a real danger that licentiousness, abundant in Ginger people, will percolate through the entire labouring classes and they will seek full retribution from us. The Rich.

Sooty Needs Our Help!

Furthermore it is entirely reasonable and consistent with the laws set out in Holy Scriptures (The Book of Relevavavations, Chapter 3 Verses 2-5 – “For Seth, despairing of the cold winds shook his fist in mighty anger at the red skies and bade the Lord “Fire in the red sky! It is no more than they deserve, Oh Lord”).

It is apposite and honourable that the burning of Gingers should continue as they offer a fruity tang to the malodorous air of London.”

Burning Gingers only lost its attraction when the more efficient practice of burning moustaches became widespread in the Edwardian era.

It is incredible to think that some of the finest minds on the planet are seriously advocating once more the super heating of other human beings as a means to tackle Climate Change.

Gfb salutes the brave men and women who gave their lives to bring this story to you. Much of it made up.

If Not For You At Least For Val

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