By Neville Cole – former Pig’s Arms North American Correspondent

Boop BOOP boop, boop BOOP boop, boop BOOP boop…

The insistent tones of Skype beckoned me with all the urgency my Dell’s tiny speakers could muster. For three desperate weeks I had ignored its daily implorations but the devilish gravatar of The Pig’s Arms creator, founder and editor-in-chief, Mike Jones, virtually demanded my immediate attention. Trembling slightly, I reached out and clicked “answer with video” which prompted the gravatar to morph into the terrifying digital visage of Mr. Jones himself.

“So you’re alive after all, you old bastard!” Mike bellowed with all the warmth of a merchant marine. “I will cancel the obit I was just about to post.”

“I’m sorry, Mike,” I know I am a little behind on my submissions.”

“A little behind?” Mike guffawed. “I suppose J-Lo is a little behind too? I suppose Kim Kardashian is a little behind? I suppose Jayne Mansfield was a little behind as well!”

I’ve learned when Mike Jones gets on a pun roll it’s best to let him burn himself out, so I sat quietly by and waited which proved to be the right choice because he ended up stopping at three behinds and moving on to his main point.

“You haven’t sent me anything in months!  One day you are all gung ho to join the Movember team and next…you fall off the planet.”

“The Mo looks great, by the way, Mike!”

“Don’t interrupt…” Mike reached up with his right hand to smooth down his brimming moustache. “But thanks, the first mate isn’t too fond of it; but…I think it looks, you know…distinguished. Anyway, that’s beside the point! Do I have to remind you that you are The Pig’s Arms one-and-only official North American correspondent? We are the finest subscription-free online virtual pub and readery in the world and we currently have zero representation from the largest English proficient continent on the planet? What on earth are we paying you for?”

“You don’t actually pay me, Mike,” I noted.

“Now you sound like Hung,” Mike snapped. “Is that what this is all about? A little scratch? You think by withholding submissions you can strong arm me, eh?”

“No, I…”

“Now you listen, Neville and you listen good; because I am only going to offer this once!”

Mike paused momentarily. It’s always difficult to interpret Mike’s intentions exactly as he rarely appears online without his customary guise which includes a pair of highly reflective goggles and a horned cap made of tin foil; but I took the gap in the conversation an invitation to reply.

“I’m listening…”

“First off,” Mike hollered, “you are no longer The Pig’s official North American correspondent. You clearly have no grasp of basic journalism. As a result, this morning I conducted a successful Google search and signed an up-and-coming online reporter who is delighted for the chance to work for t-shirts and pink drink coupons. Her name is Bristol Palin and I am sure her submissions will be timely and…well, timely. ”

“Is that the offer?” I asked.

“No you damn fool,” Mike chirped, “did that sound in any fashion like an offer?”

“Well, it’s just you said I should listen carefully because you were going to make me an offer.”

“I was setting context.”

“I see,” I said, even though in truth, I didn’t.

“It seems your little stories…you know, the ones you used to write?” By now Mike’s voice was quite literally dripping with sarcasm. He had to wipe back driblets off his chin before he could continue. “Anyway, it seems you have piqued the interest an anonymous but substantial fan. He, or she, is willing to offer The Pig’s a hefty sponsorship if we can guarantee regular weekly postings from you.”

“I don’t know, Mike…” I stammered slightly. “I’ve been really busy lately and frankly I’ve been running low on story ideas as well.”

“Hear me out. I’m not done.” Mike cut me off as if the call was costing him a fortune. “I have a plan. I figured you needed a little inspiration. I want you to return to your roots. I want you to do what you do best. I want to send you out on the road…again!”

“You want to send me…” I asked suspiciously.

“All expenses paid,” Mike stammered slightly “within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” I noted.

“The people like it when you rough it a bit,” he added.

“I could make that part up.”

“No,” Mike said with increased emphasis. “It’s better for the stories if that part is real. So…are you interested?”

I have to admit I was interested but more than that I was suspicions.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“There’s always a catch, Mike.”

“I’m telling you there’s no catch. I’ve made all the arrangements. Just say the word and I’ll have funds forwarded to you and you can be on your way.”

I was in desperate need of a break from the office and well overdue for a long holiday. I was also pretty certain I could at least get a month off and all in all an all expenses paid trip was a tempting offer indeed. Besides, if I did things right I could set myself up for a dream career. Most my favorite writers – Ernest Hemingway, Somerset Maugham, Spike Milligan, Hunter S Thompson, S.J. Perelman, Bruce Chatwin, Jack Kerouac – did their best work on the road…”

“I hate to interrupt your obvious deep thoughts,” Mike interrupted. “But I need your answer. We have to get this show on the road one way or another.”

“All right, Mike. I’ll do it.” I said without further deliberation. “I’ll just have to make some arrangements at work and put together a plan. I should be ready to head off in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks!” Mike blasted. “We can’t wait that long? We need you out there! Can’t you see? People are clamoring to live vicariously through your adventures! The world needs you on the road now!”

“But I haven’t even had a chance to think about where to go? I need to book flights, find hotels.”

“Just get in a car and drive. This is on the road not in the air! Sure, you might eventually need to take a flight or catch a train or hop on a boat…but that’s not how true adventures start! Don’t over-think this, man…that will be the death of you. Get out there and live in the moment! Then be sure to write all those moments down take a few snapshots and send it all to me post haste!” With that Mike was done with the conversation except for one final parting shot. “I’ll look for the first installment one week from today! Bon voyage!”

The moment Mike hung up my doorbell rung. I rose in a daze, shuffled to the front door and opened it. I was greeted by a man about my age and height, with the eyebrows of Groucho Marx, the haircut of Mo Howard and dressed in the traditional green and gold of the Australian national cricket team.

“G’day Nifty!” he chirped inviting himself in before I asked. “Did Mike chat with you yet?” As the man barged past me I finally recognized him as The Pig’s infamous intergalactic cricket correspondent, Hung One On.

“Hung?” I stammered with little certainty.

“Yeah, of course…who were you expecting?”

“Not you, that’s for sure. What are you doing here?”

“That depends. Did you talk to Mike yet?” Hung asked dropping his duffel in the middle of the hall and making his way directly to the fridge.

“I just got off a call with him,” I answered following the tornado on two legs to the kitchen.

“You bewdy,” Hung laughed. “Then this calls for a celebration! You got any beer?” he asked while ripping open the fridge. “Miller Lite? That don’t sound too good. That all you got?”

“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” I replied already picking up his accent.

“Well, here’s to “On The Road with Hung.” Hung passed me a bottle and took a long gulp of his own. “Strewth! Is this beer or chilled dishwater?”

“On The Road with Hung?” I repeated slowly.

“We can work out the name later, no worries.” Hung took another long gulp draining the remainder of the bottle and instinctively reaching for another. “I just figured you’re writing the stuff so your name is like, a given, you know? Don’t really need it in the title. But, that’s up to you, really. You are writing this stuff, right? You did take Mike’s offer.”

“I took the offer,” I countered “but I didn’t know about…”

“Oh, thank Christ for that,” Hung blurted. “You had me worried there for a minute. Mike’s backup plan was that I would go off alone and pretend to be you. I didn’t like that idea one bit.” Hung smiled warmly and gripped me by the shoulder with his non-drinking hand. ”We’re gonna make a great team you and I… We’ll  be like Dean Moriarty and Sal Paradise… Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo… and Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.”

“Mike didn’t mention any back up plan…”

“I didn’t like it either. No fear. You write too many bloody words. But don’t you worry, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll manage the funds, make the bookings, keep things rolling…  Maybe from time to time I’ll send in a few of my own observations; not to upstage you or nothing! Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing but watch and write. We’re gonna make a top team….and guess what I’ve already figured out the perfect first destination for us! Vegas, baby!”

NEXT UP: BEER AND BLOATING NEAR LAS VEGAS