Story by Emmjay
Merv was looking worried. Well, Merv was almost always looking worried.
“What’s the John Dory ?” inquired Hung.
“It’s our new neighbour” said Merv.
“What, you’re having a cow over some dude moving into the place the other side of Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain ?” said Hung.
“Not just any dude, Hung. This one raises dodgy to a whole new level. THIS ONE (Merv cleared his throat and most of the front bar) is none other than Eddie O’Bad” said Merv.
Stunned silence fell hard upon the front bar of the Pig’s Arms.
“That’s right, dear patrons – none other than Father O’Way’s archdiocese nemesis” said Merv.
“Holy Haloumi”, said Hung, “Falafel me dead. O’Bad’s got a ladyfinger in every pide in town”.
Jules could have sworn he heard a faint trace of the theme to ‘the Magnificent Seven’ – or maybe it was the prelude to the ‘Gunfight at the OK Corral’.
A swirl of dust made its way across the car park, dragging a reluctant tumbleweed dislodged from Danny’s long-deceased car yard next door. The street was deserted – not so much in the way of one of Granny’s after the main course trifles – more by way of the desert sands that were starting to encroach from Erskineville. It was silent outside save for the mournful wail of the wind and the ghostly whiff of baking biscuits from the old Peak Frean’s factory – gone the way of the Wagon Wheels of Hung’s youth.
Nobody could remember when the honky-tonk piano had arrived in the Pig’s Arms front bar and nobody could recall the crusty old presdidigitator ever playing anything other than “Walk the Line” – over and over and effing over. And so against a constant backdrop of innerwestern cyberian sallonery, they knocked back shots of pink liquor and chanced their hands at 3 card stud klondike blackjack poker or Yukon whist snap when they weren’t thinking about having a go at some Old Maid.
“It’s pretty draughty here, all of a sudden, Merv” said Hung, sidling up to a tall stool at the end of the bar with a commanding view of the car park. “So why are you sitting at the end of the bar with the commanding view of the car park, Hung ?” inquired Merv without any expectation of a reply that was likely to make sense.
“It’s the Wild Bill Hickock, move, Merv”, said Hung (who never disappointed with a reply). “The one time he broke his own rule and sat with his back to the door, some mongrel wandered in and shot him in the back”.
“Do you know something that would be really good to share with me at this point, Hung?”
“Look, I’m not sayin’ anything like ‘drive by shootin’, Merv”, said Hung, “But if I was you and you was me and Eddie O’Bad moved into my territory like he’s movin’ into your patch – the patch that turns a fair amount of foamy amber liquid into liquidity, I’d be lookin’ up the phone number of our old mate Crispin Bacon and hopin’ he was in town and open for hire”. And I’d be hopin’ that the Pig’s Arms archangel Father O’Way was on his…”
The sudden cessation of the piano playing left a sizeable hole in the soundtrack of the pub. It was filled by the impressive arrival of a largish black limo with seriously opaque windows drawing to a gravel-crushing halt in the Pig’s Arms car park, followed by the ‘kerthunk’ closing of four doors. And then the sound of the speed dial on Merv’s mobile…
Venise Alstergren said:
BTW: Is the pink liquor at the Pig’s Arms Pink gin? If so, it would seem out of place in an Oz pub, I’ve always associated Pink gins with landlubber sea captains, gentlemen with moustaches, together with bookmaker blonde wives.
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
It’s a mystery liquor of indeterminant lineage, reputedly distilled by Granny and always served with those ludicrous little coloured paper umbrellas.
The formal name of the pub on Merv’s licence is “Window Dresser’s Arms, Pig and Whistle”, so your associations are rather prescient 🙂
I would add to them “disbarred medical practitioners’ trophy wives with home-made breasts”.
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Venise Alstergren said:
It sounds just like a drink born in in Eastern Europe and mixed with my grandma’s blackberry and sloe gin. One whiff and you’re plastered, skint of reason, and almost dead. Whew!
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Venise Alstergren said:
That’s a seriously good piece of writing Eemmm……
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
Thank you, Venise. If you had a fraction of the fun I had watching it appear on my Mac, I’d be well pleased .
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sea mendez said:
Small off-topic question. Does granny realise she’s been here? Will I find evidence if I look around?
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Big M said:
‘Will I find evidence if I look around?’
Do you like Pink Drinks? Have you had a pint of bitter, or Trotters’ Best, or Granny’s IPA? Do you enjoy a clean dunny? Wedges an’ sour cream (or, more lately, chillies) Yes, Granny’s bin ‘ere!
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sea mendez said:
Okay but does she’s here, but does she realise it? She’s a deep thinker. Many’s the time I’ve cleaned an dunny and not realised it because I was engrossed in the problem of fluoride mind control
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Big M said:
If you’re thinking those thoughts whilst cleaning up stink nuggets, then you don’t have enough aluminium foil in your hat.
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algernon1 said:
Brilliant Emm, now I understand he has a son who can do you a very good deal on light poles.
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
Thanks, Algy. I think the PA car park is going to be more illuminated – whether Merv wants that or not.
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vivienne29 said:
Excellent. More please.
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
Working on it now, Viv. Many thanks.
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Voice said:
Yes, very good. For some reason this calls to mind the Obeid emails as described at the ABC.
http://www.abc.net.au/pm/content/2013/s3880520.htm
When I read that story I was thinking of Foodge and and how it would give some linguistic insight to a detective writer on how to make a story sound authentic. Ian Temby’s attempt at paraphrasing rather lost the flavour of the original I thought.
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
True, Voice and thank you. I think Ian Temby would try to do ANYTHING other than sound authentic in this case 🙂 But good idea for any private dick writer. For some reason the Beatles “Paperback Writer” just floated through my bonce. Hmmm.
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sandshoe said:
Entirely across what piglet atomou says about this piece, emmjay. Scrumptious is so apt.
Lissen:
“A swirl of dust made its way across the car park, dragging a reluctant tumbleweed dislodged from Danny’s long-deceased car yard next door. The street was deserted – not so much in the way of one of Granny’s after the main course trifles – more by way of the desert sands that were starting to encroach from Erskineville. It was silent outside save for the mournful wail of the wind and the ghostly whiff of baking biscuits from the old Peak Frean’s factory – gone the way of the Wagon Wheels of Hung’s youth.”
Uhhh, mate. Having seen exactly, the scene in real life of a black limo pulling up in front of me in a depot mate, that news got good, m’ I’s fell out of m’head mate. Mate, really. Too freakin’ good.
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sandshoe said:
From beginning to end it flows like a bought one, mate
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sandshoe said:
You sure y’r not reincarnated or nuthin’ a famous author, mate.
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sandshoe said:
I only dropped by to see if there was someone in the front bar. I didn’t expect to read a lunchtime snack like that.
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
Bless you, ‘Shoe. “Just like a bought one” … kills me. Thanks !!
Sometimes I have trouble sleeping and the name “Eddie O’Bad” popped into my head from outer space. I wasn’t sleeping in my tinfoil hat which is a pretty good reason for the mishap. Anyway, I just let it run and fell back to sleep.
The next day, FM went off to work (trusting that I wouldn’t waste time at the PA). She disapproves of the pub or more particularly my life here because I have no work at present beyond house painting and I should be chasing work a bit harder.
But yesterday I didn’t waste time. The whole piece took less than an hour and as kind patrons have said – it just flowed… no edits at all….
I had a lovely time writing it and the rest of the day was a triumph of full speed domestic renovation and a little bit of optimistic work chasing.
Sometimes a boy’s just gotta do what a boy’s gotta do.
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sandshoe said:
I reckon we all feel great empathy for you and FM.
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atomou said:
Oh, mate!
Where do I bigin with the deserts?
Eddie O’Bad
Holy Haloumi, Falafel me dead.
O’Bad’s got a ladyfinger in every pide in town
the crusty old presdidigitator…
Scrumpious, Emms, simply scrumptious!
We must create a Prize to reward such enterprize: The Perfectly Divaricated Pun Prize
Which should be a year’s supply of lady fish wagons and a brunch of olive thistles from Box Hill North Olivethistlery!
Loved it, Emms! Cacked my frying pan!
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atomou said:
“bigin” is not a pun but a malapropism (of an erroneously placed vowel)
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atomou said:
Oh, and frying pan is a euphemism. Of sorts.
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atomou said:
Shorts, not sorts
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Big M said:
Yes, Atomou, we all kneel down, and learn at the master’s feet…or to say it another way, Christ that was funny!
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
Hi Big. Thank you dear friend. But I’m not good being a master of anything much. If you see Foodge, can you ask him what he thinks could be the best response to the current PA crisis ?
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Big M said:
When Foodge eventually notices, he will comment…maybe??
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Therese Trouserzoff said:
‘Mou, I’m chuffed that you and our other mates enjoyed it. I had such a good time watching it roll off the keyboard. ANd incredibly, I was sober and clean. I’m buggered if I know from whence this stuff comes 🙂 I shudder to think what might happen if I took more drugs. Best not go there, I reckon.
It’s a pretty surreal mix of NSW politics – which I have to admit is the ultimate expression of surrealism-, western cliche, pub lore , puns and pulp fractions. Sometimes I worry about how randomly my brain operates, ‘Mou, but most of the time it pleases me and makes me laugh too. Life can be a pain in bum and a laugh for me is so precious.
Looking up “divaricated” now, WordPresss dictionary has never heard of it, but I suspect I half know what I might find and I have a recurrent bout of randomness starting to course through my veins right now. Yippee !
Thanks again, mate.
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atomou said:
Tezza, you’re not alone asking the whence come they? Here’s what someone says about Kerry Greenwood, in the tiny bio at the end of Medea:
“… In her spare time she stares blankly out of the window and has no idea where she gets her ideas from.”
This is a woman who has written 20 Phryne Fisher mysteries, 6 Corinna Chapman crime novels the Delphic Women trilogy, the Ancient Egypt novel, “Out of the Black Land”, the crime novel “The three pronged dagger,” is an “Honorary Greek (?)” holds the Ned Kelly Lifetime Achievement Award…
Can you imagine how frustrating it must be for her not to be able to work out what her brain is doing?
But you’re doing brilliantly, Teza, so ask thou not how sausages are made, in the head or in the sausage shed!
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