Christine Fisher Keeble, dressed in steam punk, next to motorbike in a garage

Keeping it Juicy

Zen and the art of Motorcycle… oops I mean Female body maintenance.


Keeping our machines well-oiled is only part of the to-do job list! We have to keep everything else Juicy! Getting older and clocking up a few miles means regular maintenance checks.


Yet, it’s not for the weak or delicate-minded.


Nope, you must be a tough old broad these days. So, each year at birthday time, or when I get a few thousand k’s under my belt… literally, I complete the following rituals, which go like this:

On my back with legs in the air; a cold instrument resembling a duck’s beak, finds its way like a homing pigeon into my old vagina, which quite frankly has seen better days and has embraced much nicer… well… it’s seen two kids and a few dicks, none of which are getting a return visit.

The instrument is cold…

Why the heck don’t they warm it up? They wrench it open, slip in a stick with swabs on it, dig around and unceremoniously release the clamp. Right said Fred, that’s it for you… you’ll hear from us if we find any nasty cells, which they usually do.

So it’s back for a deeper probe and more fiddling by the minge mechanic.


Now off to get my skin checked. Being born to a freckly redhead, I escaped the really red genes, but I do have a few freckles and moles that I need to keep an eye on.

And of course, now I have age spots. How the heck can I tell the difference? Stuff is popping up all over the place. I could do a portrait on my body like a join-the-dots masterpiece.

The problem here is the last doctor I went to was something out of a Hollywood movie. Think Chris Hemsworth. Here’s me stripping down to zero in front of Doctor McDreamy; I’ve never been so excited about a man looking between my toes!


doctor with stethoscope


Next having done my poo test, there’s some extra exploration required up the old cake hole. Well, let me tell you, that’s always been a one-way street for me. And thank God they put me out to an unconscious state because an anal probe is not in my repertoire, no matter who the person is.


Not even the King of England would get a look in. Camilla, he’s all yours, honey!


Mind you, the prep for one of these explorations is a drink that has you violently disembowelling yourself like they did in medieval days as a sport. Waking up groggy to a smiling doctor is not a girl’s dream after such an invasion of the poo channel… I hoped he still loved me in the morning.


Now for the boobs.

Surely, they could invent a device that’s not like a sandwich maker squashing your boobs so flat it’s almost like an out-of-body experience. The pulling and pushing to get the right angle conducted by a cold-handed nurse on her final shift, who has seen enough boobs in the day not to give me a look of even minor love… and then this machine comes slowly down. When you think it cannot possibly squash them any more, it does!


As flat as a pancake, and I have big boobs! A miracle of physics


Bloody amazing…

Actually… it’s like camping tents. Why can’t they just make the bags a bit bigger to fit the tent back in after you have attempted to fold it up? Just a few more inches and everything would be fine.

It’s not a big ask, right?


Teeth are important and I get mine checked regularly. No way will I ever wake up next to someone with my teeth in a jam jar! End of story and motivation. Look after your teeth, no matter what the cost.


Eyes, of course, need a check. I’ve had refractive surgery, with a history of cataracts and well, this has been the best thing ever. No need for glasses; but good times don’t last forever. I find I’m starting to give up on the fine print and night riding is totally out of the question.

Who doesn’t look at labels and put the camera torch on to read it? For the love of God, manufacturers, come up with a bigger font size or two… you mean bastards!

I’ve given up on getting my hair roots done and will go natural. Can’t wait to be 100% grey. Getting rooted every few months is an expensive habit and honestly, I can do without it.

I’ve been rooted enough in my life, so I’m going to just do it myself! Finally, the carpet matches the curtains.

The night ritual of creams and oils is only half my story. I’m addicted to all this beauty stuff and live in a false sense of hope-they-will-work.

I even have machines that glow RED to make my collagen produce like a 30-year-old.

YES, I believe the stuff when it comes out and every time I get sucked into buying a miracle, I say, “Here we go again…”

I’m now waiting on an order, possibly from a Nigerian, ready to get my bank details.

Trips to the airport mean no makeup so I’m ready to slather every exposed piece of skin with $500-a-gram trial creams.

Sliding into my economy cattle class seat with the most expensive stuff available, I’m glowing like a worker in a North Korean sweatshop.




Back where I started, at the vagina… yay for pussy power!


A weekly treat of shoving some hormone cream up the old, rarely-used birth canal keeps everything juicy and happy. At every stop light, I do my pelvic floor exercises. I could stranglehold Hulk Hogan into a death roll!


Chris Fisher Keeble in steam punk outfit with her Indian motorcycle, Calamity


It’s happy days, we only have the one body, so look after your health.  Never underestimate the strength of a well-oiled woman. Never underestimate the action you may get at any time and keep everything as juicy as you can. 

Spare a thought, as you sip your next Chardy and toast to us gals. We are one bunch of tough motherfuÇkers!


Well-behaved women rarely make history!

Chris Fisher Keeble, a woman dressed in Steam Punk style.


Written by :
Christine Fisher Keeble


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