Your Health Problems - Vaccinated

Did you know that there is a 87% chance that one day, at some undetermined point in the future, you're going to die?  It's true, it happens to most people.  Notable exceptions include Bruce Forsyth and anyone with the surname Attenborough.

With that in mind, it's important to do everything you can to avoid the reaper.  I'm talking in a metaphorical sense.  You can't just cross the street when Death comes for you, nor can you find his house on Google Earth and plan your commute around it.  You need to take care of yourself and stay healthy, fit and limber.  That's why I've decided to help some of you saggy, rotting Internet corpses out there to stay in shape.  Below are some exemplary cases of medical perplexity that I have single-handedly cracked.  I'm like House, only I got evicted from mine for the unexplained disappearance of debt collectors around my area.  Regardless, let's get on with the show:

Gemma Driveway – Fish Wrestler

Dear Addman

Last week I cracked my leg on a table and now I can't even put it to the floor.  Walking is absolute agony, and I can't walk down to the doctors surgery to get it checked out.  Do you think I've broken it?

Dear Gemma,

Ages ago, me and a few friends co-owned a racehorse called Gimpy Steve.  We used to train him in particularly extreme conditions. The theory behind this was that if Steve could race in torrential rain, on ice, and through fields of landmines, he could race through anything.  Sadly, Steve slipped over on the first day, broke his hind leg, and the stable owner had to shoot him while we all cried.  It was the saddest day of my life.

Anyway, that's basically the situation you're in.  Do you know any farmers who can come and do the deed?  I'm sorry, but you need to be put down for your own safety.

Alaister Drew – Puddle Maker

Dear Addman

I have a penchant for the rotund posteriors of ladies that I simply must confess to.  My siblings all deny that this is normal practice.  When a lady enters the room with an iddy-biddy waist and a round object in my field of vision, I get feelings.  Is this normal?

Dear Alaister,

I refer you to the case of Sir Mix-A-Lot vs The Feminist League of America.  By law, it is not appropriate to encourage this kind of behaviour, and under no circumstance must you encourage a female to "shake that healthy butt".  In short, you are a monster and should probably be put down.

Barry Shogun – Pepper Grinder

Dear Addman

My head has gone septic.  What should I do?

Dear Barry,

When something goes septic, the best thing to do is to lance it.  Do have any lances lying around at home?  If not, I know a guy (coincidentally named Lance) who is an exceptional lance wrangler.  He has taken part in many renaissance fayres, and I have it on good authority that he is an expert LARPer, whatever that means, and has regular cause to use his lance during that.  I'll give him a call and get him to come round and lance your face.  If it doesn't work, he can always put you down while he's there.

Stuart Pourer – Serial Rappist

Dear Addman,

My daughter has become infected with a severe case of lesbianism.  She hasn't had a boyfriend in like, ever, and I saw her hug one of her "girlfriends" the other day, who I suspect may be the carrier.  I've tried praying to every Pagan god I know of, but so far, none have come up with a viable solution.  Is there some sort of pill she can take to cure her?

Dear Stuart,

There is nothing wrong with your daughter.  Lesbians are an important branch of the evolutionary Porn tree, and I'll be damned if I see another father try and dissuade his daughter from fulfilling her erotic destiny.  Frankly, I think you need to be put down.

Nicole Papa – STD Researcher

Dear Addman,

Last week I kissed a whole bunch of men in a nightclub, and now I have these weird sores all over my top lip.  At first I thought it was just stubble rash, but I used my husband's toothbrush  yesterday and now he's got it.  I need to find a way to clear this up quickly.

Dear Nicole,

As far a I know, this is a disease that has never been discovered or catalogued by medical science.  I'm pretty sure there are no infections out there that can be caught through sexual contact with another human being.  As such, there is no cure so you're pretty screwed, although there's no change there!  Hahaha!  No seriously, you'll need to be put down right away.

Brian Herbie-White – Toast Toaster

Dear Addman

Last week I went to eat at a local sushi restaurant.  That evening I was hawking my guts up and thought I was going to die.  Then the day after, the vomiting completely stopped.  What do you suppose happened there?

Dear Brian,

Isn't it obvious?  You've been cursed.  When eating out, always ask the waiters if the food has been handled or prepared by a witch doctor or shaman.  Check the waiter's belt for shrunken heads.  Scan the menu and look out for foods which sound like black magic, such as Juju sauce or calamari.  If you ingest these items, your body will become host to a thousand lost souls.  The spirits of the damned will hang around in your colon like they have nothing better to do, and make you violently sick.  The only solution is to have yourself put down, then you'll feel right as rain.

Alison Packard – Exhaust Fume Huffer

Dear Addman

I’m a busy woman who juggles a high powered business career and two children.  Last week I started suffering from heavy "women's problems", if you know what I mean, and I can't afford to for it to slow me down.  Is there anything you can suggest to alleviate these symptoms? 

Dear Alison,

Heavy women problems?  I understand, say no more.  In fact, I suffer from heavy women problems all the time.  Once a month, I get this irritating feeling and my blood starts to run cold.  This is all caused by the heavy woman who sits next to me on the train sometimes.  I only see her about 12 times a year, but she always seems to sit next to me for some reason, and she smells faintly of cheese sauce.  It's nauseating.  The only cure I can suggest is to pull the emergency cord and have them evacuate the entire train.  Or just put yourself down.

Marissa Duracell – Sexual Predator

Dear Addman,

Last year I had a flu shot and felt utterly dreadful for the next two weeks.  This year, my surgery has called me up to invite me for another flu shot, but I'm not sure I want it.  I mean, I don't want to catch flu, but I'm afraid I might get it from the vaccination anyway.  What are your thoughts?



Dear Marissa,

Flu?  Hahaha!  Last year I caught smallpox twice, and it never did me any harm.  You must be a real wimp to get upset by a little bit of baby flu.  You should try playing beach volleyball while you have gout sometime.  How about space hopper racing with hemorrhoids?  You don't know you're born, do you?  Don't make me put you down.

Phew, I think I've given enough advice for today.  Join me next time when we meet a man who has caught rabies from some babies, and a woman who describes herself as a "Vagician".  Ciao for now!

Carnal Examination

The waiting room was stifling. Bleak, sterilised, placid walls suffocated the enclosed, unhealthy few who were unfortunate enough to have been stricken with illness or injury. A noxious cloud of infirmity and self pity emanated from those patients who were concious enough to convey a facial expression, whilst the others may well already be dead.

Trying to steer my thoughts from the overbearing depression of the waiting room, I had scooped up what appeared to be a customer feedback card. The contents of this held little interest to me, however, with a little help from a nearby pen, the back of this card would provide a small, necessary diversion from the saddening surroundings. I tried to focus on my barely creative scrawls. Doodles of frog-men and various other unnamed creatures and characters adorned the white spaces of my feedback card until I ran out of room for them. After a short scout around underneath a cascading pile of Readers Digests (backdated all the way through the mid 90s), I unearthed a second card and began to fill out again with sketches rather than actual feedback.

Slowly, my thoughts soon began to wander back to what was waiting for me in mere moments. A throat examination, no doubt, due to the inflammation in that area. Without any prior medical expertise, I felt quite confident that I had tonsillitis. But who would be my doctor for the day? Six months ago, I came in with an unknown condition, only to be met by Dr.Mullins. She was everything you could hope for in a trained medical professional; firm yet fair demeanour, a vast display of impressive technical jargon, intimate knowledge of her chosen field, along with a figure that belies her years.

"Mr Killingworth, room 5 please."

Fantastic! Room 5 was Dr. Mullins! I was sure of it!

Tentatively, I made my way down the corridor and stood outside the pale, faded door. I glanced up and down the corridor only to realise that I was alone. Drawing in a shaken breath of air, I raised my clenched fist and knocked on the door of Room 5. Gradually leaning in closer and cocking my head to one side, I awaited my own, personal siren song to lure me in.

"Come."

Almost rattling the door off of it's hinges, I eagerly swung it open to see Dr. Mullins sat at her desk. Memory had almost eroded her physique in my mind; she was more of a woman sat now in front of me than I recalled from a few months previously. Her luxurious dark hair hung authoritatively, yet managed to just tease her shoulders slightly as if it gave a slight insight into a concealed wild side. Her fitted white jacket shaped her contours perfectly, framing the perfect woman right there in front of me.

After what seemed like days of standing there, she looked up from the papers on her desk and over the dark frames of her glasses, finally acknowledging me with the vivid green of her eyes.

"Nice to meat you. Sit down."

I did so, nervously. I don't know why I was so anxious about her, I never usually had this kind of trouble in social situations with members of either gender.

"So, what appears to be the problem?" She quizzed, a flashing me a toothy smile as she spoke and finally producing a friendly tone. I tried to explain the pain in the back of my throat, but I imagine the rasp of my voice gave the problem away long before my words ever did. She instructed me to stand up so she could take a look in my mouth. As I did so, she came around the side of her desk and brushed my cheek with her hand as she reached for my mouth. Startled by this, I backed away and dropped the feedback card I was holding.

"Oh, you dropped this" she said, bending down and revealing more of herself than she probably intended as she kindly picked it up for me.

It's only then that the horror of this situation dawned on me. In the waiting room, I had drawn a rather suggestive illustration of the woman in question, and even labelled it with her name. This sexualised picture was not only inappropriate, but completely put me in an embarrassing situation. As I stared at her in fear I could see her facial expression become altogether more solemn and serious as she studied the diagram in detail.

"I'm sorry! I rasped as I made my way to the door to leave.

"Wait, don't go!" Dr. Mullins commanded, which stopped me just before the door. Why didn't I just leave? There was something compelling in her voice that froze me to the spot.

"I bet you were preying that I wouldn't see this" she supposed as I heard the click of her heels as she approached me from behind. Still unable to turn myself around, I remained rooted to the spot.

Suddenly, something about that last sentence clicked in my mind. Prey? And then earlier... Nice to meat you...the toothy smile. I came to stark realisation.

Ms. Mullins was a man eating, salt water crocodile.

I turned and pushed the beast away from me with both arms. Barging my way out of the door and into the corridor I realised that the crocodile hadn't been detered by my pre emptive attack and was already upon me. It roared with the ferocity of a thousand dying stars, shaking the pictures off the walls, and rupturing my spleen in the process. As the discarded organs slowly removed itself from my body, the animal sunk it's grizzled maw into my calf and bought me to the ground. In what Irwinites call a "death roll", it began to roll me over, first shattering my nose against the linoleum floor, then back on my back with bone crunching intensity.

Uncharacteristically for a crocodile, it then let go of my leg, and proceeded to stand on it's hind legs before me. I scrambled to my feet, screaming for help against this anthropomorphic reptile, only to notice through my bloodfilled eyes that all the reception staff were crocodiles as well.

"You are now infected. You will soon become a were-croc like the rest of us!" Dr. Mullins cooed through a row of serrated dentures that were laden with my own flesh. I let out a cry of horror as I limped into the nearest open office in a vain attempt to secure my own safety. I dragged my carcass into the room as I heard the croaky laughter of dozens more were-crocs who were descending upon my imminent position.

Glancing around the room for anything to defend myself with, I noticed a medical table with dozens of needles upon it, all filled with various colours. Who knew what concoctions were contained within them. One of them surely must be a cure for this condition. I grabbed a syringe with a green liquid in it and rolled up my sleeve to inject it.

"You think that's a cure? Go ahead, try it."

I plunged it into my arm and pushed the plunger down, filling my veins with an unknown amount of an unknown liquid.

"Well done. That was Measles"

"Shit!"

Hopefully there would be a cure for that too here. I stuck the red one in.

"Tuberculosis"

Green.

"AIDs"

Yellow.

"Spinobifida"

"Spinobifida? In a syringe?!" I cried.

"Hey, that's National Health for you".

That's the point when I blacked out. I awoke and there was God in front of me. He high fived me and let me spend the rest of the day swimming in his pool. He has a really cool wave machine.

The End

Me aged 7 1/2