Posts Tagged ‘Health’

Hi Kids,

Christmas can be a tricky time for opiate users!

cupboard crackhead copy


My former dealer Dinsdale used to pack up shop and head off to the lovely island of Santorini to help an archeological dig over the Holiday period.  Always good to have a hobby don’t you think.

Anyway as my supply of Class A’s dried up for a few days I was forced to use my imagination as to what to snort, sniff, inject or smoke to attain an alternative level of consciousness.

So, if you find yourself stuck this yuletide in the search for narcotics heaven, here are a few ideas;

  • Snort a bauble
  • Smoke ground up tinsel (the hallucinogenic quality of tinsel has long been overlooked.)
  • Rob a neighbour
  • Place a large Turkey on your head and breathe its decaying fumes After 4 days the high is extraordinary!

Christmas Crack Pudding is lovely too.  Make sure it is locally sourced though.

Merry Christmas!

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Hi Kids,

Giving blood is one of the best things we can do to help others!

cupboard crackhead copy


Unfortunately due to my shared needle experience in years past (another money saving tip for a future post) my blood is not exactly top-notch – but every cloud has a silver lining and the local butcher, Chortling Charlie – a man with an outstanding track record in the preparation of contaminated meat products can always find a use for a pint or two of me old red stuff.

His Crack Pudding is worth dieing for.

Locally sourced and keeping the air miles to a minimum. Organic food as it should be.

So Kids – If you can’t donate blood – why not have  a word with your butcher?

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Hi Kids,

Smoking Tobacco Is Bad For YOU!

cupboard crackhead copy


This applies to Cigarettes, Cigars, Cigarillos and Pipes (but not crack pipes). I would also counsel against smoking petrol, carpets and/or soap.

Do not confuse this with smoking fish. That is an ancient custom which provides a marvellous erm..erm….smokey taste to fish. Do not confuse this with fish that smoke – they have no hands, access to matches/lighters and being water based creatures……..you get my drift.

Just remember you’ve only got one set of lungs, but hundreds and hundreds of veins!


Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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The Despatcher manoeuvred the wheelchair into the Carriage’s disabled bay. “Many thanks,” said the chair’s occupant, an elderly woman. Another woman in early middle age, fussed around her.

“All part of the service!” replied the Despatcher, “Enjoy your trip to the seaside.”

“He was a bit rough,” the old woman said to her companion, “Nearly had my eye out with his whistle.”

The companion said nothing. She took off her wire framed glasses and wiped the lenses on the dark grey fleece she was wearing. She looked tired and in all honesty fed up.

The Despatcher took several minutes to free the chair ramp. Once he had released it, he let out a pert peep on his whistle and the train pulled away.

The old woman carried a small potted plant in her liver spotted hands. I could not tell you what type of plant it was. It was colourful. She stroked the plant and said, “Like the view Arthur? I told you we would make one more train journey together.”

My daughter Millie looked up from her colouring book and tugged at the cuff of my shirt.



“That old woman. Is she going to die?”

“No. Not yet darling. But it won’t be long by the look of things.”

“Thought so. Can I have some more chocolate?”

I handed Millie her third segment of Chocolate Orange. My wife had forbade chocolate on our excursion to the Zoo, but we don’t often go on trips together and why can’t a Dad spoil his little Princess? Besides, who doesn’t like to tap and unwrap?

The old woman looked at me and said, “That child will be sick if you keep giving her chocolate.”


A smile spread across the old woman’s craggy features. The top set of her bleached dentures rattled slightly as she spoke to Millie, “Hello my dear. Where are you going? “

“Zoo. To see the Penguins,” Millie replied.

“I think you are the prettiest child I have ever seen!” Said the old woman, “But if you keep eating all that chocolate you may develop chronic diabetes and become morbidly obese. Not to mention lose your teeth!”

She smiled broadly. Her left hand fell off.

“Bloody Germans.”

I gasped and broke wind. I hoped nobody noticed. Millie laughed.

Her flushed companion reattached the prosthetic and said to me, “Sorry about that, it’s a bit worn and loose.”

“That’s OK,” I replied, unsure what to say.

The old woman, checking the quality of the reattachment, asked Millie what her name was, “Millie? That’s a lovely name. My name is Mary and this is my daughter Eileen.”

“You’re old. Are you going to die soon? My Dad thinks you are.”

Mary laughed “Death comes to us all Millie my dear. I am prepared, but hopefully not for a day or two. We have a trip to the seaside first! Do you like the seaside?”

“Yes!” replied Millie, “Sandcastles!”

“North Cornwall usually,” I said. I lied, normally it is Devon.

“Your Daddy is a bit fat isn’t he Millie? Does he smoke? The stains on his teeth tell me he does.”

“No,” I replied, before Millie could say anything. I had given up for New Year. I was pleased with my willpower, apart from when I had a crafty one.

Mary turned to her daughter, “Any news about Betty?”

“Lot better.”

“Did she find her eye?”

“In the freezer.”

“She’s so careless that girl.”

Mary looked down at the plant, “How are you Arthur?”

I swear the plant shook gently in response.

“That’s good.” Mary shaded the plant with her hand. A flapping tongue of handkerchief protruded from the sleeve of the white cardigan she wore. I shuddered at the thought of mucus on my wrist.

“Is Dad OK?” Eileen asked. Mary looked wistful, “Grand. He’s excited about being on a train again. He loved his trains. The hours he spent in the loft with his train set. ……What he couldn’t recreate in Papier Mache……….. Do you remember that time he got his head stuck in his replica Channel Tunnel!”

“How could we forget!” Eileen appeared to relax in her mother’s company.

“Never liked the Sun much though.Brought him out in hives.”

“I know Mum.”

“I’m glad I could bring him. He loved the seaside. Hated the water, the sand and the Sun of course, but loved everything else. And he didn’t need a ticket, him being a pot plant now. Loved Violets he did. I think he needs a drop of Baby Bio by the looks of things. I do miss him Eileen.”

“I know Mum. We all do.”

Mary stroked the petals of the pot plant or Arthur as I now thought of it. She appeared deep in thought, “Yes love. He certainly loved his train set. And having his way with me. He was insatiable. Right up to his Seventieth. No wonder I ended up in this Chair!”


Mary pulled the handkerchief from her cardigan sleeve, wiped a tear and blew her nose before rehousing it. Again I shuddered at the thought of damp mucus on my skin.

“Daddy,” Millie asked,

“Yes?” I dreaded the question.

“How long will it be before I am old?”

“A long time yet.”

I was relieved. She hadn’t asked that question.



“I think I’m going to be sick.”

It was by the Lion’s den that Millie asked me what insatiable meant. I bought her an ice cream. She forgot to ask again.

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A year ago, a greasy, has been Porn Star approached Gingerfightback with a vision. As this vision would be illegal in most right thinking homes, he was offered a regular column,  advising the workshy, feckless and foppish on the do’s and don’ts of personal appearance.

His advice has brought advice, succour and lurve in abundance to many Gingerfightback readers for exactly a year now (He even taught Penny how to Rod Stewart!).

So, to celebrate Oily George’s first and possibly last anniversary for Gfb here is his first advice column.

It is smutty, crude, childish and haircentric – Thanks Oily!

Still Giving Lurve One Year On

We are delighted to announce that Oily George, Gfb’s very own beauty expert has returned from filming in the US to answer some of your questions relating to health, beauty and personal grooming.

As  a leading light in the adult film industry of the United Kingdom, with such classics as “Market Gardener A Go Go” and “Onion Orgy IV” under his belt, Oily knows a thing or two about the importance of appearance and cooking vegetables to boot.

We hope you find his advice helpful.

1. Oily Caseload #1 – Hair Raising

Oily George – First it was hair loss so I bought a wig – now my nylon hair has developed split ends?

Any tips?

Nantucket Bob

Oily replies,

Not sure what the problem is with Split Enz. An excellent New Zealand band and ‘I Got You’ was a fantastabulous single. The lead singer Micky Finn went on to form another beat combo called Crowded House – interestingly he named this band after the tenement building he and his 8 brothers and sisters grew up in.

Perhaps knowing this, Nanty Bob, you will now open, or lower, your ears and listen. And enjoy those Split Enz

2. Oily Caseload #2 – Cellulite Blues

Please help me Oily George!

At first I thought cellulite was the lost tribe of Israel. Then my friend Amanda thought it was a low fat spread. She is kinda right as it has spread all over my thighs. I’ve tried lard, monkey innards and even laid a Barbara Taylor Bradford novel over the affected area – alas to no avail.

What can you suggest?

Sue, Melton Mowbray

Oily Replies

What you mean they aren’t a lost tribe of Israel?

In my line of business – ‘grown ups art’, cellulite is indeed a concern as I know that my discerning fans, as they sit peering at the screen, tissue in hand, do not wish to observe what looks like discarded orange  peels wriggling in ecstasy. Puts some people off their, eh, stroke, if you will. There is a surgery close to my home here in Silicon Valley which deals with this problem. I’ll send you the contact details. Meantime Sue perhaps you could send me a picture of your breasts lathered in baby oil? It’ll give the surgeons a better idea of which procedure best suits.

Lasciviously Yours


3.Oily Caseload #3 – Pump Up The Volume

Oh Oily! I am in a bind. Last night I applied hair volumiser to my pubic region by mistake. I woke up this morning with a crotch so bouffant that I can’t put my pants on. I have a big date with Natalie from accounts tonight, was hoping to take things to the next level – but what is she going to think when I drop me strides and the lead singer from Mungo Jerry pops into view?

Any ideas?

Worried Les

Oily Replies

When pondering these problems I like to slither into my bath, lay myself in Extra Industrial Castrol and, you know, let nature take it’s course. I do all my best , ahem, pondering in the bath.

I then retire to the drawing room donning my ‘Noel Coward Rocks My World’ silk dressing gown and matching slippers, sip a brandy and ponder further the problems that beset my poor readers.

I suggest you shave the offending pubes into the shape of something important and meaningful to Natalie, something that will make her realise she is with a man who has empathy and isn’t afraid to show his feminine side.

The following are some suggestions of the sort of shapes and images that most speak to the sweet little things;

A flower

A fluffy kitten playing with a ball of string

A 6 month old baby gurgling in a pram in a summer’s meadow with the sun blazing down.

An ironing board.

The girl in that tennis poster scratching her arse.

Cutting your mangy pubes into any of the above is an unbelievably romantic gesture and would win over the hardest of hearts and ensure you get your oats.

If it doesn’t then she’s obviously a lesbian. If that’s the case get your camcorder and follow her home…..I pay big money for such footage.


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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

You Must Sand It To Him


Is it true that 72% of all accidents in the home are caused by the mis-use of Sand?

Del, Daventry

Aunty Bill Replies;


Sand accidents in the house do account for a substantial amount of A&E admissions for a variety of reasons;

A bag of hot sand in the bed instead of a hot water bottle – bag too heavy for the bed – bed collapses and falls through ceiling killing both occupant of bed and other household member(s) downstairs listening to “Here’s Bernie Winters!” on the iPod (hence didn’t hear bed come crashing through ceiling – take note) – 12 recorded examples in the UK.

A bag of hot sand in the bed instead of a hot water bottle – bag too hot/too heavy to lift up stairs –loses balance, falls down stairs and cracks head open on bannister/burns to death under hot sand or suffocates to death – 4 recorded examples in the UK.

Using sand to clear blockage of toilet – causes back surge of water which under extreme pressure causes water to travel back up soil pipe at over 120 mph causing structural damage to both toilet and user –  in extreme cases an unwelcome and painful dose of IBS can result – 2 recorded examples in the UK.

Using sand to prop up wonky furniture – sand actually destabilizes the item being propped up.  In the case of a piano or large bookshelf this can fall, causing severe injury/death/a good laugh for all your mates – 6 recorded examples in the UK.

These are just a few of the common mistakes people make when using sand as a solution to problems round the home.

I’m sending you a copy of my leaflet “Sand – the grainy, light coloured silent killer in the home”.

Be careful out there!

Aunty B

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Hello Bob Lewington here,

I was round Lynn my sister’s this weekend to help her fella Darren creosote their garden fence. There is little love lost between Darren and me.  Several years ago I caught him trying to steal my living room window.

But Lynn asked for my help and how can I refuse?

The curly Kale worked its magic, so I tucked Lynn’s Cosmopolitan under me arm and paid a visit to the facilities.

I read about how the pleated sleeve is big this year and how an actress whose name escapes me overcame shoe disorder syndrome to get her life back on track. I’m a slip-on man for what it is worth.

There was also a story about how Melanie a 34 year old events planner from Balham, had her life saved by her pet cat Snappy. Apparently Mel had fallen down the stairs at home and had broken her ankle, tibia, hip, six ribs and neck.

Snappy dialled the emergency services, administered CPR and prepared a poultice using nothing but everyday herbs and spices found in the modern British kitchen.

Melanie has made a full recovery thanks to Snappy’s speed of thought and First Aid training. I am allergic to cats. They bring my rash out something terrible.

The creosoting went well apart from Darren trying to steal his own fence. He has issues.

Be lucky.


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Hello! This is the scond part of my muse on Sunburn and its effects upon us Gingers. Part one can be found above labelled, Part 1!

Part 2

To paraphrase President George W Bush, “The Sun and Red Haired people can never peacefully co-exist”. If he had said this history would not now hold him in contempt. But he didn’t. Poor lad.

If only Copernicus, Galileo et al had been Ginger.

Whilst catching some rays, their subsequent sunburn would have led them to the conclusion that the Earth rotates around the Sun. Just think about that for a second! Alright it is a load of cobblers but it might have happened.

Their subsequent ridicule, imprisonment and excommunication for a few centuries, may have been staved, before quite rightly Pope Nazi proffered apologies all round and allowed Catholics to believe the Earth is not flat, Brad Pitt can act and that condoms are more than a handy device for browning bananas.

Anyway enough of Science, back to my holiday.

The Mosquito bites were now in full bloom. So much so that a blind Greek beggar deciphered a Braille message from the wounds around my ankles that read;

“You are not suited to this climate, find somewhere cool and wet for future holidays. Fool!”

Even more impressive the message was in French.

And itch! But at least I discovered that Calamine lotion is an adequate replacement for coconut in Pina Coladas. Although it takes a bit of getting used to.

There is a lesser talked side effect of sunburn. It may be a bit “After the Lord Mayor’s show”  in terms of fame but it can cause equal discomfort in social settings. Peeling skin.

Not Very Apeeling!

Not the everyday shedding of skin that is a natural part of the regenerative process and allows cosmetic companies to fleece – there’s that word again – woman of a certain age –  but the wholesale peeling of layer upon layer of the old dermis that left me looking like I’d undergone dissection by cack handed medical undergraduate.

At one point an entire layer came away from my stomach region including the belly button area. At least I found somewhere to store loose change. It now sits on top of the mantelpiece as a conversation piece when people I don’t like arrive at Fightback Towers for nibbles.

“That’s an interesting piece what’s it made of?”

“My skin. Cheesey dips anyone?”

Has them rolling in the aisles. Not really. More like reaching for their coats and making a mercy dash to feed the goldfish. Sorry, Koi Carp. Shy fish? You live and learn.

Another handy application for profuse skin shedding is based upon the Greek Myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. For like Theseus, I could always find my way out of the labyrinthine beer fug the local Tavernas induced.

Not with the legendary ball of string though. I merely had to follow the desiccated skin peelings left by my soulless passage towards Hades (The Irish Theme Pub) to ensure a safe if wobbly passage home to me very own Athena.

A Cooking Tip!

Grating dead skin over pasta dishes for unwanted visitors clears a room quickly.

“This parmesan has such an intense flavour, where does it come from?”

“My buttock region. Want some more?”

“Really. We must go. The Goldfish are starving.”

But I won’t keep carping on about this.

“Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy.”

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‘Taint No Fun Burning in Der Sun

Every year Gfb leaves The Crib for a few days for the Sun. Every year, “Be careful. Cover up. Factor 50 minimum.” Every year rogue rays pierce my Maginot Line like defences and turn my dermis into pork scratchings.

Jesus it was hot. My brains were melting and dribbling out of my ears.

Gingers and the Sun? No!

Bastard Sun. Bastard Heat.

Under a parasol, thirty seven feet in diameter, dressed in a Burkha and propped up in a lead lined coffin for extra protection.

Burn Baby Burn

Still copped it though. Top of the thighs. Right ear. Left ankle and Neckline.

“Ooooh, ooooh, aaaaah, aaaaah,” goes the song at night as I turn in bed. Cotton sheets cling to me like a rejected lover just to inflict further rubbed ignominy.

Bastard Mosquitoes too. Like Drones in Helmand they were. Despite the copious application of Agent Orange (the stuff strips skin in a fashion Hannibal the Cannibal would have been proud of) they kept on a coming. Strafed and chaffed for hours until they sated themselves on my olive oil enriched blood cells.

Mediterranean diet me arse.

“I didn’t get bitten!” Ma Fightback chirped. That’s alright then.

Day 2. To the beach. Prop my coffin under the 78 feet diameter parasol. He’s there.

6′ 3″. 16 Stone. Early 60’s? Very tight trunks. Extremely tight trunks.

Stands in the Sun, hands on hips, legs slightly akimbo. He’s the man he’s telling the beach. I hear him speak.


“Ich bein ein bein einstein knacke der Ooompah Band,” or some such he says to his wife who is on a lounger looking at pictures of Princess Kate’s breasts.

“Ja,” she replies. He stands over her. His foot on the edge of the lounger. He’s proud of his trunks. His very tight trunks. He plays with his hair. Flicks it. Shapes it. Teases it. He has mullet memories.

Beads of sweat form inside my Burkha.

“Wasser for dippen,” he says.


He changes trunks. Yes I know. The tight, very tight trunks are removed with the aid of a block and tackle rig and support of a passing sunglass peddler.

Budgie smugglers now adorn his crotch.

He stands by the water’s edge. Hands on hips. Legs slightly akimbo. He wades into the water and then dives in. He is under for a few seconds and then Kraken like, he resurfaces. Without his hair. Worse still, the hair has been replaced by some used toilet roll.

He reminds me of a boiled egg. A Big Tuetonic Boiled Egg.

“Meinen syrup has kaput in der wasser. Scheissen schellotapen.”

“Ja,” mutters wifey now looking at pictures of Prince Harry’s testes.

He looks around in embarrassed fashion. No-one is laughing. A coffin shakes slightly though.

Eventually I spot it floating rather listlessly towards Crete. Is this is how the legend of The Golden Fleece was born millennia ago? The Golden Wig – now there would be a Greek Myth to spice the imagination.

Or maybe not.

“Thus spoke Minerva, and Ulysses obeyed her gladly. Then Minerva assumed the form and voice of Mentor, and presently made a covenant of peace between the two contending parties.”

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Sweet Fanny Adams

Gfb’s cookery advisor Fanny Redcrack is here to help you with some cooking tips.

As the world’s leading exponent of cooking with opiates, her world renowned Crack Of Lamb is to die for, Fanny is on hand to add some real spice to basic recipes.

She found ten minutes away from her bong to answer this query.

Eat Up!

Dear Fanny

Blancmange. What’s that all about then?

Clive Seatbelt, Merseyside.

Dear Clive.

Whilst researching my new book,”Fanny Galore! The Woman Behind The Whisk” I came across this fascinating tale.

After a successful encore of Blind Vision at Milton Keynes Town Hall, life was good for pop combo Blancmange. Their album Mange Tout was flying high at number 8 in the U.K charts and lead singer Neil Arthur, returned to the newly opened Milton Keynes Travelstay Motel determined to party.

Neil phoned reception and ordered a celebratory pudding.

The night chef had been on the Skol all night,  got a little bleary eyed and inadvertently  a dessert was born!

60ml of cornflour

1 Pint of full fat milk

Lemon rind

45ml of caster sugar

Blend 30ml of milk with the cornflour. Heat the milk, sugar and lemon to boiling point, add the cornflour mix. Bring back up to boil. Pour into ramekins. Chill for 3 hrs. Serve with fruit.

Keep Rockin!


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