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Author Archives: Mark

Merv: Now it’s Stress

15 Thursday Jun 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Angler, Emmjay, Foodge, Gib W, granny, Hon Shades, humour, Mark, Merv, Nurse Barbara, Sandshoe, Sister Yvonne

I had short back and sides before I read this article…

 

Now it’s Stress.

Story by Mark.

Merv stands behind the bar, erect and proud, [Mark here Hung, steady now] surveying the ambience of the Pigs Arms, you know stale cigarettes, spilt beer, those unique fruity flavours however there was something worrying him.

“Granny, I’m worried and stressed” he cries.

“Oh for fuck sake Merv, what’s wrong now. Are you having another shitbox moment?”

Granny in her PJ’s

For those who failed to read the last highly stimulating, drama packed episode, and you know who you are, yes I see a few hands, you can find out what a shitbox is here.

“Here, have a pill, works for me, just happened to have a sleeeevvveee, hehehe hahaha” crows Sister Yvonne.

“Nah, 50 ml eucalyptus oil, 500 ml normal saline, rubber tube up the arse, works every time and wait till the koalas start humping you” interjects Nurse Barbara as she puffs on a fag, sips a pint, reads the form guide and takes part in conversations. Womanhood, wonderful to watch. “Anyway if enemas aren’t your thing ask Hon, she’s a survivor.”

“Yeah mate” says Hon using Cyberian vernacular “wot’s the problem Merv, car won’t start, fingernail broken, kicked ya toe. I can deal with it mate, been there done that.”

Merv in the PA XI

“Well, I read that I’m going to be replaced by Aut O’Mation, some Irish bloke apparently. And I’m getting pressure from my agent who thinks I signed up for too many episodes at the Pigs Arms.”

“So who’s your agent?” asks Hon.

“Emmjay”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm…”

“So what is the most pressing issue?”

“Well I signed up for 20 episodes per year at the Pigs Arms and I’m finding it way too much work.”

“Hey I only got 10” pipes in Angler.

Yeah, us too, come the calls from the crew. “What about you Hon? How many did ewe

The Crew

getz?” asks Gib W who suddenly appears at the bar. Must let him know that this magic stuff can scare kiddies as you never know they may be watching.

“Er, um, yeah, like, you know, sort of maybe 15…”

Angler calls the crew together. “What do we want?? ” he cries.

“Um, dunno, wot do wheeze want Angler?” says Gib.

“Um, I know EFFALL and we want it now.”

“EFFALL? Nah mate we don’t want eff all, this is for us fellow space travellers, we make a stand together, yeah, another round.”

“No EFFALL(Equally Fair Fiction for All Languishing Linguists).”

So the chant followed four hours after with many a Trotter’s consumed and a happy night had by all. As the crowd faded the chant still echoes.”Wadda we want, eff all, when da we want it, now”, think about it.

Hung and the boys

Breaking News: Gordon has sent Hung to the scene of a meeting between the management of the Pigs Arms and the Fictional Characters Association. Hung can you hear us,

Yes, look, I’m just going to interview some of the key players as they come out of the building here at Cyberia Central, this is quite a revolt, the characters are threatening strike action if their demands aren’t met. Here’s what Merv had to say,

“…bloody terrible, never knowing one day to the next, ever playing the goon…”

then Granny

“… shocking. It’s either me or Sister Yvonne in the black underwear, must give Hung a chubbie…”

and Foodge

“…the matter is before the court therefore I am unable to say anything however it’s a fit up…”

Feelin lucky punk…

Merv is Spaced Out

02 Friday Jun 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Angler, Big M, Father O'Way, fiction, Hon Shades, humour, Nurse Barbara, Sister Yvonne, Warrigal

…

Merv is Spaced Out

Story by Mark.

Sandy was sitting at the bar fiddling with his drink, Trotter’s Ale of course, what else, when Merv approached and in his usual affable way thought he would engage in some jaunty repertoire about space.

“Hey Space priest, how the devil are you? What’s it really like, you know, out there?”

Sandy

Merv loved calling Sandy a priest because he knew he hated it, a bit of ribbing I guess, well not until the next punch up anyway. Merv points to the sky and scowls his face and growls lowly as if space is really spooky. Well, to be honest and that’s copiously rare, actually space is really spooky.

“Bless you my son for asking” replies Sandy.

“I’m not your son!”

“Yes, I know but that’s how us parish priests talk, bless you my son, go the farce has ended, thanks be to Gordon, you know, that kinda shit.”

“But I’m still not your son” persists Merv.

“Look, it’s zarking metaphorical”

“What’s that mean?”

“Dunno, I’m just reading the back of this coaster.”

[Sister Yvonne here. Jesus wept Hung, don’t you know what a metaphor is? Not happy

Sister Yvonne

Hung, now I have to read this and contribute at the same time.

Hung: So what is a metaphor then, I dunno?

Sister Yvonne: It’s a noun.

Hung: Thank you Sister. I’m glad that’s cleared up.

Sister Yvonne: It’s always left to us nurses to save everything…dot dot dot and it could even become DOT DOT DOT now that I’m in charge of the keyboard, hahaha.]

“Well, now that you ask space is sort of spacey” continues Sandy “you know big and spacey.”

[Big M here. For fucks sake Hung saying space is big and spacey is akin to saying water is wet and grass is green. Do you want me to take over writing this bit?

Hung: Well, no, not really but space is big and spacey. I guess there is a lot of black and stars and shit but there is a lotta room out there.

Big M: Here’s a new concept for you Hung, think about it.]

Merv

“Yeah, I like that” says Merv “big and spacey, sounds great. When I was young I was taught that water was wet, grass was green and now space is big and spacey, wow, perfect man. I guess there would be a lot of black and stars and shit but the sounds like a lotta room out there to me.”

“Yep, big and spacey for sure.”

“Bullshit” says Angler. “More space in back of Zephyr even with shotgun and dogs”

“Crikey! Where did that Yorkshire accent come from Angler?”

Angler gets hungry

asks Nurse Barbara who had been listening to everything while reading the form guide. Now is that multi tasking or what.

“I did a bit of rehearsing before the gig but anyway I reckon it’s all Gordon’s magic” smirks Angler hardly able to believe the most outrageous lie he has ever had to tell.

“Nah, it’s rocks, gotta have rocks” pipes in Shoe.

“Hey shoe, you forgot to scramble your name to Hon Shades.”

“Oh, shit. Nah, it’s rocks, gotta have rocks” pipes in Hon Shades.

Oh, well, if they only knew the truth which is…

Baiame Redraws the Map of Mirriyuula’s Heart

The Pres talks to Jim

28 Sunday May 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Father O'Way, fiction, humour, Sandy O'Way

He said he was from outer space…

Hi, Sandy here, you know, the parish priest from the Church of St. Generic Brand, down the road and round the corner from the Pigs Arms.

Wwwwweeeeeelllll. I have some breakout news for you. Currently I’m in space with Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, the creator of the universe and we intercepted this phone call from Earth. The message was intercepted by a SHITBOX(Sub-ether Hologram Intergalactic Transmission Broadcast Over X). X is the operating system. So here’s how the theory works. Many aeons ago a single-minded company decided to create objects called shitboxes. I’m sure all who are reading can identify several shitbox

a shitbox

episodes in their life. These shitboxes ended up all over the galaxy and they transmit all means of communication available. They play news from Bad Aunty, sport, music, even country and western!

This transcript is between an orange roughie called the Pres(TP) and a foodie called Jim Kong Ung(Jim) who just loves a deal and whose hobby is rockets however is somewhat a sticky character[one for the nurses].

The Pres decides to give him a call. Ring, ring, ring, ring[get the picture].

Image removed.

Here’s a transcript and I really hope that this will put your minds to rest.

Jim: Heeelo Jim speaking, are you ready to place your order. Today’s special is a burrito called “The Wall” and you build your own, pay on the way out, extra fries 50 cent today only.

TP: No, I don’t want food, I want to speak to the leader of North Career, is that you?

Jim: Yep, that’s me. Crispy fried chicken wings 3 for a dollar, waddy ya say?

TP: Look, it’s about this missile thing with really dangerous stuff on-board.

Jim: Don’t worry bout that, that’s just for the locals, keeps them on their toes, bhawawahahahahah, I made a funny. Schnitzel 7 fifty, just for you.

TP: Hey, ewes a smart man, wheeze could do business. I tell you, what would it take for a man like yourself to reach a peace deal?

[At his stage the phone is muffled by a hand over the talkie bit. The Pres could hear

When you’re smiling

phrases but nothing to much, “sigh,basket caper, go hurt the dill, lots of sauce and don’t go sour on the dough, moucho dough”. The Pres then realised that these guys were tough negotiators. That’s pretty high praise for fictional characters].

Jim: Can we get a signed basketball and some smoked salmon with sour dough and a yogurt and dill sauce dressing, oh hang on, [muffle, muffle] and capers.

TP: Is that all? Anything else.

Jim: Um, yeah enough to feed the crew.

TP: Okay, how many?

Jim: Five.

TP: And so we won’t bomb each other.

Jim: Okay, you drive a hard bargain. Sure you don’t what some fried rice?

TP: Now I’m taking your order.

Jim: Yes, so it seems Pres.

You call that a shitbox now this is a shitbox

Gordon Drops Inn

21 Friday Apr 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

humour, Hung, Mark

How people find this shit funny is beyond me

 

Well there is a buzz around the Arms tonight, buzz, buzz, kabang! Sorry, that was a fly, anyway, Hung here, tonight Gordon is going to drop in with a special guest, unknown at this stage. Even I don’t know and I’m the author, well sort of. Now would I lie to you?

The door swings open and in walks Gordon, one of his magic tricks he loves, opening the door without touching the handle, bloody miracle worker that guy, hmm.

“Where’s ya guest?” asks Merv.

“He’s still in make up at this stage” replies Gordon.

“Wheeze was getting all excited, like the good old days”

“The good old days were actually pretty shitty but I’m glad you are excited, finally”

PA’ XI 1863-Won Grand Final by a fingertip

quips Gordon.

“So have you made him up yet Gordon?” enquires Angler.

“Hmm, now that you ask no, so I’ll do what the pollies do and create a distraction.”

Again, the front door opens but this time it’s a funny looking man in a cap with a black uniform.

The Colonel in better days

“I’m Colonel Wilhelm Wafflekurgenburger from the Licker Licensing Board attached to the Inner Cyberian Pleece. My friends call me The Nasty. Your Licker Licence please.”

“So what about your enemies then, wadda they call you, Bozo the Clown?” calls Merv and much mirth displayed by the crew.

“They, my friend are all shall we say inconvenienced.”

Gulp! Never seen a character like this before at the Arms, must be the warming thingy.

Well Merv had never seen a licker licence before so he had no idea. Just when it was about to get a bit confrontational like, the patrons loading up their weapons, Gordon steps in.

“We don’t need a licence” chants Gordon as he waves his hand around the room.

“You don’t need a licence” says The Nasty.

“Why don’t you just leave”

“Yes, why don’t I just leave” and with that the Nasty packs up and scurries out the door.

“Gordon, out hero” cry the crew “drinks all round on Gordon”

Hung comes over to Gordon’s side “Gee, Gordon, that was some show, now what gizmo did you use?”

“Are you saying I’m not honourable Hungsie?”

“No, but none of this farce crap, okay!”

“Shit, it’s called a DOWOP(Drowns Out Waves of Other People) hence people

Do what? No do wop…

walking down the street singing Do Wop dah dah diddy Do Wop are trying to use the technique. Ten bucks in Start Wars at Space Mart, alters mind waves, useful at times anyway it’s 5 O’Clock somewhere in the universe, time for an ale.”

Merv worries about Money

03 Monday Apr 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Mens

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Father O'Way, Gib W, humour, Merv, Pigs Arms

Merv gets ready for the day, nasal hairs clipped.

 

Story by Mark.

 

Merv was feeling pen, pen, pen something as he stood behind the bar, erectile and well dressed. Merv had been taking guitar lessons from Nigel Fargo Evans who apparently taught Jimi Smith and Stevie Ray Jones how to play however it wasn’t rubbing off so to speak.

“A is first followed by B then C” proclaimed Nigel. This was too much for Merv to comprehend so he decided guitar playing was not for him.

Merv was pen, pen, pens.., looked around the bar and noticed that the usual crowd

I’m a quark, I fink

were in chatting away about quarks, astrophysics, shotguns and girls just like any Inner Cyberian pub would.

But Merv was worried about where all the money came from? “Ask Hon, she’ll tell ya” said Hung.

“From me purse Merv, eyes look in it an the money comes out” says Hon.

“Where’s that bloody priest, Sandy get Gordon here” roars Merv.

“Bless you my son, I now pronounce you man and wife, whose soul will thus goeth to hevanus” replies Father O’Way, from the church of St Generic Brand, just to get the word count up.

“Cut the crap Sandy, get him here” demands Merv.

So Sandy rings Gordon and asks him over. “Gordon,you better get here quick, we have a religious uprising”

Bloody Kennards no Pleece boxes

[Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis]

“Hey, who are you, where’s Gordon” cries Merv.

“No. I am a replica of Gordon. I am a programmed cardboard cut out from the planet Aurora and am here to answer any questions about money here at the Pigs Arms. As a cardboard cut out I save the Pigs Arms lots of money in space travel time and I gotta say Emmjay is always telling us that the budget can’t afford these special effects.”

“Well, special effects my evacuation valve but I want to know about money at the Pigs Arms. I make thousands of dollars every night to a sui generis group of people” pushes Merv. Bloody heck, what does that mean? I always wondered about a group of people.

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember,

I fink I just went to the toilet again…

possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, I can account for everything that I have done but sadly they are subject to FOI(Fuck Off Idiot) Laws” says the cardboard cut out.

“Well Hung gave me a twenty and I had to give him $250 change” goes Merv.

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember, possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, The vehicle has low kilometres and service history. Finance can be arranged. Test drive sure can, here snort this” says the cardboard cut out.

“And mees and him had a bet on the foottee. I went the Newy Shitkickers and he went the Illawarra Underworld Figures, anyway where’s the bong?” pips in Gib W.

Trust me, I don ‘t need to go to the toilet

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember, possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, look renovators dream, shag pile carpet and Elvis Presley wall paper, reduced, knock that wall out, rebuild the pergola, add an extra bedroom, new kitchen and bathroom, the roof, insulating and heating, hot water, driveway, garden, mate what are you waiting for…” says the cardboard cut out.

Does this feel familiar?

Jesus fucking Christ, someone give us a fag and where’s the bloody loo.

Gordon’s Cat

01 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by Mark in Big M

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

Algernon, Big M, Christina, humour, Mark

Cat and chips, hmm…

Story by Big M

Mark and Algernon were perched at the bar, having enjoyed a lovely morning tea of Granny’s best IPA (Impressive Pig’s A…, I mean, Ale), and were sipping on banana daiquiri chasers. The doors burst open to reveal Big M, wearing his best socks and sandals, Bermuda shorts, and a long sleave shirt, a picture of sartorial excellence.

“Hello Brother, Sister.” Chirped Mark. “Didja come down on the 3801?”

Big M was still brushing dust from his shirt. “Nah, the Flyer’s electric, now. They only

Big M gets ready for work

get the 38 out for spesh. How are you pair? Another round?” Our intrepid bar flies nodded eagerly, with daiquiri forming little yellow moustaches.

“Well, there’s been some concern.” Proffered Algernon. “We think the Bish is dead, or paralysed, or worse, and Gordon’s bin arrested!”

“Feckin’ stupid heap of shite!” Roared Merv from behind the bar. “Oy, Mark, you’re a plumber, aren’t you?”

“Nope”

“But you’ve got an interest in plumbin’?” Merv was red faced.

“Well, sort of.” Mark swallowed the last of his cocktail, placing the glass on the bar, and nodding enthusiastically towards the empty glass. “I do know that Thomas Crapper and Sons were the finest dunny makers in the Old Dart.”

Merv assiduously ignored the empty glass and the nods. “Well, can any of youz fix

Mark

a busted glass washer?” Merv was desperate to avoid washing anything by hand.

“We need to get to the most important matter at hand.” Algernon took control, of the floor, and the cocktails. “Gordon’s cat is missing, feared dead!”

“What, like Schrodinger’s cat?” Mark sounded excited.

“Well, yes and no. Schrodinger’s cat may have been dead, or may be alive.”

“Well, which is it?” Big M raised his a butt cheek off the stool to let out an enormous fart, or was it a shart?

“No, it was Schrodinger’s famous thought experiment, where he put a cat in a steel box..”

“A dead cat?” Mark had taken control of the cocktails, but not the floor, or the conversation.

“No, alive, anyway, it goes into a steel box with a Geiger counter, which feeds into a relay which can crack open a bottle of cyanide. I think Einstein wanted to add explosives, but that’s beside the point. If one single atom inside the box undergoes

Algernon thinks about it

nuclear decay, the Geiger counter detects it, the relay cracks the cyanide bottle, and the cat dies.” Algernon wasn’t sure they were following. “You don’t know if the cat’s dead or alive until you open the box. So in the meantime, the cat could be in two states, alive, or dead. It’s all quantum physics.”

“So can this bloody Schrodinger fix my bloody glass washer?” Merv was about to throw the machine into the yard.

“No!” The trio yelled.

“So Gordon’s cat is in a steel box?” Big M looked self-satisfied.

“No, Schrodinger’s dead cat is.” Laughed Mark, picturing a dead cat in a box.

“No, it’s either, or both, dead and alive!” Yelled an exasperated Algernon.

Yum

 

“So where’s Gordon’s cat?” Chimed in Christina, as she reached between them to grab some coasters.

“How the f#@$ would we know, it’s your story, ‘shoe!”

 

 

 

I’ve had a bad day, don’t ask…

 

Episode 85 Close Nuff: Granny does a Runner

07 Tuesday Feb 2017

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 43 Comments

Tags

'Shoe, Foodge, granny, Hung, McSpoorrran

Oops Tartan joker in the pack Kenny Logan created airport mayhem yesterday as Scotland's squad flew off to the rugby World Cup in South Africa.

Oops

Story by Sandshoe.

Shoe and Hung are sittin’ at the bar. They’re fit to burst judgin’ the expression on their faces to say somethin’.Shoe … that’s me (credit idea to Mark who’s Hung to put self in) so don’t go fashin’ yoursel’ ’bout the unusalness of puttin’ a first person in instead of the third and pretendin’ they’re not loungin’ ’round in this e-stablishment with the rest of ’em spinnin’ tall tales and gossipin’ ’bout famous people like their tomorrow’s are all used up … and Hung who’s a sort of confidante of betcha, well, once crowned heads of Europe and knows most the names of every bikie in the carpark since he bandaged up their sore punchin’ wrists and

Chook, a member of the Hell's Angles in the carpark

Chook, a member of the Hell’s Angles in the carpark

daubed iodine on cuts on their sweaty faces durin’ a brawl (lasted a week one long hot summer) they got in started by a mob of upswept vs natural’n’loose hairdressers … are gasbags.

It’s notable the two of ’em are sittin’ at the bar sayin’ nothin’ with that expression on both of their dials anybody knows who frequents … a place of low repute in some people’s diarisin’ and best place in others’ poetry anthology … this place, no home from home sweeter or e-stablishment their fancyin’, not only a scant mention in a lengthy history of the universe and no joke, their place in their sunset years to roost, perpetuals, like the chooks in the rafters.

Hung: Did you say the rafters, Shoe?

Shoe: I did, Hung. I did. Comprendez vous? Comprendez tes mes votre CHOOKS? The Pig’s Arms’ CHOOKS?

Hung: Bit flowery, Shoe. No matter. You sure about the rafters?

Shoe: Sure.

Hung: This comes to me as a surprise we’ve chooks in the attic.

 

The Burrito Brothers

The Burrito Brothers

Shoe: Me too. Not for long. Granny brought ’em back from Mejico, el pollo, see the new menu.

Hung: You mean Mex-ee-co. When did she go there?

Shoe: Yesterday.

Hung: Shoe, I can’t even hear ’em. In the attic? You believed her? I’ll talk to Granny.

Shoe: You’ll be goin’. She’s like a fashed chook on the run. She washed and starched the runner off the bar. She’s in the laundry tryin’ to iron it flat. Reckons she’s done it now.

Foodge: It’s perpendikular?

McSpoorrran (swaggers in the door in a dramatic cover all of clumps of hair of all colours and merged with red hair aglow on shafts of sunlight on his arms, bellows good naturedly): FOODGE! I gave y’ a lend for the hair cut and doin’ yourr nails, mon. Y’ll no’ be spendin’ m’ money in Rrrosie’s Emporrrium and House of Pain drrrinkin’ herr bottomless wee demi tasse’s of mocha and gigglin’ in m’ earrr thrrrough the thin walls in the tenant’s quarrrters all night long and paintin’ herr kitchen clatterrrin’ ladderrrs at 1 o’ the clock in the morrrrrnin’. Y’ owe me, mon. Aye, och, I’ve taken on the empty apparrrtment down the laneway. I’m yourrr neighbourrr now, wee mon and I’ve m’ rrrent to pay.

Foodge’s face would tell us of one dealin’, dinkum, with an ever life alterin’ history of the universe. I’ve laid a bet on it in the Sports Bar.

4:09 pm, South Australian time, 3 January, 2017.

PS: Read about Rosie and Rosie’s Emporium.

https://pigsarms.com.au/tag/rosies-tattoo-emporium-and-house-of-pain/

PPS: Read about McSpoorrran opening upstairs for men above Glenda’s Pig’s Legs Waxing and Beauty Salon

https://pigsarms.com.au/2016/12/21/bumper-christmas-edition-2016-episode-80-foodge-has-an-episode/

binb4yycuaioufb

Here’s a kitten

 

 

Apologies to Sandshoe. I received this story last week but was unable to publish it due to serious health reasons. I went bungee jumping and the rope was too long and needed a few days off.

Factotum

27 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 28 Comments

Tags

Factotum, Matt Dillon

Factotum.jpg

 

 

Factotum

By Sandshoe.

I read a lot of short stories from all over in an intense episode of study of the form and… adored … a hard back series of volumes, ‘the best of the year’ American short stories. Aside I enjoyed others. I discovered a voice in them that communicated to me a depth of humour and drama, but an urban rhythm and culture I somehow knew. Who knows how. Stories told to me as a child in the 50s of the American ‘occupation’ of northern Australia during the final days of WWII, American movies, popular culture, a professor at University, American friends.

I’ve only just this evening watched the movie ‘Factotum’ based on the novel written by Charles Bukowski.Factotum 2005 poster.png

I was spell bound. I enjoyed the production design and as for the lead role played by Matt Dillon it is a voice captured. As if I was reading him off the page.  Its the personification of an American 20th century writer living on the skids of his dream, its rhythm hypnotic. I get the story. He skid rows from one place of urban employment to the next in shitty job after shitty job, chain smoking but it’s about so much more. About humanity, love, sex, hate, the movie filled me with hope for my own humanity, that it continues to prosper and my personal success day to day, week to week in the smallest and more significant ways, writing ‘stuff’ as I do from time to time, growing a garden, seeking a living by it if only by provision of a meal and a communal lifestyle attracting like-minded people, having worked enough shitty jobs, lived enough shit experience.

Whatever. Its inspiring to watch an actor (Dillon) transform a story of happenstance and a role into a work of creative genius. See the best.

It really got me out of a tinge of the doldrums caused by having picked up a glossy brand spanking new its skin paperback collection of an Australian sports commentator’s yarns off a neighbour’s kitchen table only a few days ago … such purest chance I saw it … and read a snippet why he had doubts, but included in his

Humans are redicilious

Humans are rediculous

volume the Frog Joke he described as “a radio joke”.  The bit that first threw me was his native honesty he did not say he wrote it.  I recognised in the same moment implication left so wide open that he did, any undiscerning reader may think he said he did.

I know he did not write it given I wrote it and aside I have radio experience

including as a copy writer, to demonstrate ‘an ear worm’, as a simple exercise in a period when it was in fact a job of mine among many I took on to write and teach, facilitate a group of fledgling writers.

Our sportscaster in his introduction of it makes a comment that I’ve made independently, many times, that he could never understand its success.

How might he imagine I feel, how unimaginable the incredibly and entirely ridiculous Frog Joke was told mostly unchanged the world over and at one time in so many different forms, by children and adults alike, play acted, brilliantly adapted, used and sold over and over in one anthology after the next and the next.

I was working in one shitty job or another, gripping from toehold to toehold onto the surface of the earth, oblivious to it. There was even a brilliant animation

Dang!

Dang! Another shit job

decrying how silly it was. I felt it as a great pity the video was withdrawn from circulation no questions asked and its creators it seemed ran away for perhaps fear of a reprisal when I contacted them.

The twist towards the end of ‘Factotum’ is his mail is intercepted, an acceptance of a short story letter opened and read, set aside. We don’t have it confirmed by the movie, but it seemed likely a long time might elapse before he would stumble on realising he made it as the writer nobody believed he was or could be.

Revealing that doesn’t spoil the movie and the declarative speech that is the punchline. Better see it if you haven’t.

Best is I was across it, moved, inspired by ‘Factotum’. I understand his chaotic life.

A chaotic life

A chaotic life

 

Episode 84.999 Recurring – Foodge feels the Heat

25 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Fern, Foodge, granny, humour, Sister Yvonne

Foodge limbers up...

Foodge limbers up…

Story by Big M.

 

It was mid-morning and Foodge was already overheated and confused. He had lost the deposit on his legal ‘Chambers’, and had to pay Fern severance pay plus annual leave. This, and a hefty bar tab, left him skint. His finances were in a mess, but, he was intending to avail himself of a universal panacea. “Mr Merv, couldn’t bother you for some succour in my time of need?”

“Succulents, yes ideal for these long hot summers.” Merv slid a canoe across the bar, and then deftly poured one for himself. “Bloody hot summers, Mr Foodge!”

“Where does it all come from?” Foodge wiped away a foam moustache with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Kegs, mainly, although we stock bottles.” Merv nodded towards the glass fronted

Merv in the middle

Merv in the middle

refrigerator, with its flickering, yellow fluorescent tubes.

“No, the heat!” Foodge was already regretting, not wearing his new white Bermuda shorts. “It’s insufferable.” As he waved his Fedora in front of his face.

“That’s because it’s fuckin’ ‘ot outside, Mr Foodge”. Merv nodded sagely as he poured another couple of Best.

“Isn’t there some sort of cooling mechanism?” Foodge could feel the ale finding its way to his liver.

“Well, there is the aircon.” Merv gave the glass door of the fridge a wipe with a

Unkle Pervy

Unkle Pervy

dirty rag, squinting at the brown bottles inside. “Fiji Gold, sounds like a cracker!” Merv had a habit of buying ‘South Seas’ brands. “I could turn the aircon on if you like?”

“Anything!”

Merv flicked the switch marked ‘Honeywell’. There was a rumble from the rear wall of the pub. Then a bang. Something seemed to be whirring away behind the bar. Puffs of dust fluttered down from the discoloured plastic vents that dotted the ceiling. Then…nothing. Merv gave the thermostat a whack. Another bang from the back of the pub, then…cool, clean air. “That OK son?”

“Ah, now I can think!” Foodge motioned towards his empty glass. “Whatever happened to those nice, young nurses?”

“All on overtime, they’ll be ‘ere soon.” Merv flicked some dust from his pink singlet.

“Some of them are quite attractive.” It was Foodge’s turn to knowingly tap the side of his nose.

“Yep, and the others are blokes!” Merv roared with laughter. “The others are blokes!”

“Who are blokes?” Asked Yvonne. “While you’re thinking I’ll have three reds, three

Yvonne

Yvonne

pints of pale ale, all with ouzo chasers.”

“Male nurses. They’re all blokes.” Sniggered Merv.

“Mr Merv, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you take drugs?” Yvonne reached over for a tray.

“Well, I’m on a hefty dose of paracetamol for me knees.” Merv was considering the drinks being on the house, after all, the tequila was from Fiji. “Why do you ask?”

Yvonne gathered the glasses together on the tray. “You have the demeanour of someone who’s touched in the head.” As she hurried off towards the Ladies Lounge.

“Thanks for the compliment, Sister Yvonne!” Merv knew she wasn’t a Sister in the biblical, or even, nunnery sense, but called them all ‘sister’ to razz them up.

Granny

Granny

There was a screech from the back of the pub. “ Merv, Merv, MERV, did you turn that fucking aircon on?” Granny appeared at the foot of the Obama Memorial Staircase. “You know we can’t afford to run aircon!”

“I popped it on for Foodge, ‘e was a bit ‘ot!” Merv was trembling, as he hadn’t seen Granny this angry since she found the brown mullet in the spa.

“Foodge, Foodge, is he alright?” Granny crossed the distance from the foot of the staircase to Foodge’s side like a wraith. “My Darling, are you feeling the heat?” She walked our poor, dear boy to an aging, cracked Chesterfield, of indeterminate shade. “Merv, more fluids!!”

“’e’s ‘ad three pints of Best!” Merv protested, as he poured another.

“He doesn’t need Best, or Bitter, he needs a proper Strong Ale, Granny’s Special

Fuck nose

Fuck nose

Ale!”

Merv set the pint aside for ‘Ron’, then accessed the secret tap behind the bar, pouring a litre of Granny’s Spesh, carrying it to the sweaty couple with shaking hands.

“Just sip it, my love, it’s the Elixir of Life!”

Foodge sipped from a huge glass he’d never seen before, and instantly felt better, in fact, he wasn’t that bad to start with, given that the aircon had cooled him down pretty quickly. He looked up at the concerned faces of post night shift nurses. “No mouth to mouth needed here, girls!”

“If there’s any mouth to mouth needed, it’ll be me givin’ it!” As Granny clamped her lips around Foodge’s. “Merv, give me a hand to get him into the lift.”

“We have a lift?” Merv was anything but observant.

A gentleman

A gentleman

“Yes, he’s coming up to my room for some special therapy!” Granny winked.

Neither were seen for the rest of the day.

Those long, hot summer days.

I fink I just went to the toilet...

I fink I just went to the toilet…

Merv losses his Voice

22 Sunday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Foodge, Gordon O'Donnell (GOD), Merv, Nurse Barbara

ra

Foodge at Law School

Foodge at Law School

Merv Losses His Voice.

Story by Mark.

Ackually, there is an air of calm in the Pigs Arms tonight, no pleece raids, well not for and hour or so. Everything is peaceful and quiet.

Foodge had the girls bailed up in the corner discussing a point of law. The girls however were more interested in the racing guide. Till Nurse Barbara asked “How’s ya

Nurse Barb

Nurse Barbara

barista business going?” which started Foodge on another tirade about the price of coffee till Merv emerged.

“ “ said Merv. Well at least his jaw and lips moved but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry old boy but you’ll have to speak up, it was the war you know” and given the closest Foodge got to war was driving past the army base one day, just BS.

“ “ says Merv. Again nothing.

[ “ “

Hi Merv Hung here. You don’t say anything in this episode.

Merv was about to say then thinks, what the eff are you up to Hung?

Hung

Hung

The patrons can write the answers, I’ll rewrite the story with what works then re-publish the story thinks Hung

Merv: You are weird Hung?

Hung: Yes I know]

The boys are out the back, sipping a few specials.

“No fecking cricket. What’s the world coming to?” says Gib.

“Gordon says there’s a One Day Final on the planet Axiom but due to time differences the game takes 10 Earth days” informs Angler.

“If Gordon says it then it must be true.” recites Gib from his magical tablet as if by special farcical powers.

“…………….. “ says Merv again.

“Nah, if Gordon says then it must be true” states Hung.

“If Gordon says it then it must be true” chant the crew.

Pass the Soma or Somac, not sure.

“………………. “ cries Merv.

Don't worry about climate change. Worry about what life you are leaving for this guy.

Don’t worry about climate change. Worry about what life you are leaving for this guy.

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