Merv and the Robot.

As usual, it’s Merv that attends to the bar jobs, oh yes, so that the pub is open for business, helps pay off his 457 visa card or something like that. Never been great with pames or naplces, don’t know why, it’s not that I’m a drongo or anything.

As bar manager, Merv needs to attend to a level of acceptable bar etiquette, like no guns, pitchforks, effigies or blow up replicas, for example, voodoo dolls, just sayin’ like.

Today however, something unusual is happening at the Pigs Arm’s, no one is calling for the government to step down and they’re all too busy drinking Trotter’s Lager to worry about it. And let’s face it, why shouldn’t they be.

Meanwhile, in the office, out the back, so no one can really tell what’s happening, Merv calls to Foodge, you know our own private dick and barrister, “Come and have a look at this Foodge, a typewriter and a television screen rigged up together. Can’t see it getting far but who nose.”

“No, you just said who nose, when you meant who knows. Are you a moron Merv, even O’Hoo nose the difference between who knows and you nose or even, fuck  nose.”

Merv isn’t put off by the bar banter, he starts to stay up late at night learning how to use this typewriter and make orders for the pub and eventually he looks up a website that sells robotic barman. Can you see where this is heading, I can and I’m the author.

See Merv has only ever had one day off since the beginning of the Pigs Arms. What better than an AI(Artificial Intelligence) robot to do your job. Yes a holiday.

“Hey Merv, this robot you have ordered so you can have a holiday, can do everything better quicker faster, why do we need you when you come back” says someone. Okay, if you what to know who that someone is ask Big M, not that he said it.

Something in Merv thinks, oops. Okay let’s send it back.

Algernon wanders in , shotgun cocked, brain, well, engaged, “WTF is that whatever your name is that I’m talking to”

“It’s Merv Sir. He’s got a reply email from the Postmaster that says Do Not Reply” says the script reader.

After wanting to return the robot barman, Merv sent this email to the robot company that had told him that he couldn’t reply. Merv was fuming. Here is a redacted form of Merv’s reply, just in case there are kiddies watching,

Dear Automated Email,

Thank you for your request. I just wish to tell you how much I miss you.

Fond memories pervade over this valley of time given your lengthy absence.

Hoping the rumours about your ill health aren’t true otherwise it has been nice knowing you.

Love

Merv

************

“Merv, you can say that about whatever” says Nurse Barbara. “Maybe you want to talk to that bloke over there. He’s been asking about emails and Moooovveee which I reckon might mean Merv. And he has been talking about cans of magic elixir.” Wink, wink, oh my Gordon, how far do I have to go thinks Nurse Barbara. Jesus Fucking Christ I give up,sorry kiddies.

Just as a mosquito was about to fly by, a man entered the bar at the Pigs Arms. He ordered a beer and said “Has anyone here ever heard of a bloke called Merv?”

“Nah mate, who the eff are you?” says someone to whom I haven’t aligned this comment to.

“My name is Nap O’Leon and here is a can of my magic elixir” says the bloke that says

this. Nap O’Leon places a can on a bar. “This is French champagne” he continues “I’m from French and I’m here to investigate an email that was sent to our No Reply Email service. The depression rate in our Postmaster Offices has increased. We must stop this or else.”

“Hey fellas, how about a dip in the ocean before our next chug along?” says Sister Yvonne.

“Nah, that would put me fag out” replies Nurse Barbara.

“What about the French champagne. Hasn’t it just been proven that nothing plus nothing equals something” says Foodge, our community sitarist.

“Oh no, not this hoary old chestnut however it is ridiculously delicious just like I like my boiled eggs sunny side up.” replies Nap O’Leon.

“I’ve bet you have never been to a fuel and produce store, hmm, didn’t think so, follow me dribbler” says a really surprising retort from one of the list of characters that could possibly answer so this time I’ll go to Sister Yvonne.

“Have you any fuel or produce?” Yvonne asks the young assistant behind the counter.

“No, but I do like chicken”. Yum, yum.