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Author Archives: Mark

11.1 Sandy: On the Road to Bali.

02 Tuesday Nov 2010

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 41 Comments

Tags

Father O'Way

 

Indonesian Justice System – Schappy style – Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

 

Warning: The following article is rated MA15+. It contains,

Drug references

A sex scene

Humour

Total stupidity

Sandy here. The Bish wants me to go to Bali and put in a good word for my mate Shappy. Shappy has lodged an appeal for clemency with the President. Shappy feels hard done by for getting 20 years jail for a tiny bit of dope in her bag, well okay, a couple of kilos, well 4.2kg to be precise.

As usual I bribe the guards with some suspicious white powder and Pigs Arms T-shirts, I mean, who wouldn’t want a Pigs Arms t-shirt? Hint, hint. I am led to a room with some tables and chairs and Shappy is sitting at a table.

“Hi Shappy, you’re looking well?”

“Hmm, hmm, oh, yes, yes, yes oh my god, hmm, hmm, hmm, more, more, yes, yes, yes. Hmm, hmm, oh, yes, yes, yes oh my god, hmm, hmm, hmm, more, more, yes, yes, yes.”

“Shappy what are you doing?” I ask totally bewildered. “I’m giving you a hmm job Father, I mean, isn’t that what all men want, hmm jobs?” relates Shappy. “But Shappy, all you are doing is sitting at a table and making sounds” I inform rather perplexed. “But yes Father, this is paper sex and sex sells, you want this story to sell right? So you can become rich and famous, don’t you?” hmms Shappy. “Paper sex?” I exclaim. “Yes, Father, it’s a new trend, its safe and you can have it whenever you want. So what you do is type on the screen what you want to happen and yeah, there it is, like you’re about to put up some inverted comma’s and say says Shappy” says Shappy.

“So Shappy, you have made an appeal to the President Sussudio BangBang Yodelyokoono?” I inquire. “Hmm, yes, I’ll give him a hmm job, I’m sure he’ll let me out, Hmm, hmm, oh, yes, yes, yes oh my god, hmm, hmm, hmm, more, more, yes, yes yes.”

[Insert explicit sex scene here]

I leave the poor estranged figure of Shappy and interview a senior official at Kerobokan prison, Maid In Sardinia. “Maid, mate, I believe if Shappy observes prison regulations, she could be out in a little over four years?” “Well Sandy” replies Maid “yes, no, maybe.” I take a large envelope out of my jacket pocket displaying the glistening notes of cash “Well Sandy” beams Maid “Lets make that three years, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean!”

I leave the prison and head for the President’s palace. “So Sussudio, mate, are you going to let Shappy out early?” I ask knowing you are all waiting with baited breath for the answer’. “Well Sandy, yes, no, maybe.”

So I rings the Bish. “Bish, its Sandy. Look mate she as mad as a cut snake. Oh and did you like the Phil Collins and Yoko Ono gag?” “Sandy you just get that girl zarking home, you com-pre-hen-day?” roars the Bish. “Me and Basil Sauce have money riding on this.” Bloody Basil Sauce, the local pasta at the opposition, him and the Bish, always betting with each other. And those others that have now become involved, you know, Cab Ornara, Put Tenessca and Chee Can Curry. Think I might have to go back into space.

11. Sandy Returns – From where, not sure?

23 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 42 Comments

Tags

Ashes, Australia, cricket, Father O'Way, humor, science fiction, Trotters Ale

Hi. Sandy here. For the new I’m Father Alexander “Sandy” O’Way. I’m the parish priest at the St Generic Brand Church in Inner Cyberia in the Western suburbs. The parish covers the Pigs Arms and I am often down there, sinking a glass canoe of Trotter’s Ale and debating science with Emmjay, or in other words talking bullshit. Oh, and I have recently been in space, travelling several galaxies researching baked beans for the creator of the Universe, Gordon O’Donnell, an astrophysicist from another dimension. Anyway, that’s another story.

Anyhoo, they let me out of the local psychiatric unit after the Bish, you know, my boss, Bishop Bishop came and bailed me out. Now I’m back with my Bel, you know Belinda, Glenda’s little sister, whom I married and then Gordon tells me he wants me to go back into space. Yeah right!

So I have to find out what happen between Picky Runting and Shame Worn, you know, they are cricketers, the most boring game in the universe. A good saying would be “I’ve seen grass grow, paint dry and a cricket game”, know what I mean. Personally I couldn’t give a rat’s toss bag, what ever that means, but the Bish had a bet with Pastor Sauce that they will replace Runting with Michael Fark. I mean, tie me down and spank my bottom, Gees arse.

I visit Picky at his rural Tasmanian home that he had completely relocated to the Sydney outskirts. Convenient hey. “Picky, dude, what’s this spat with you and Worny?” I ask showing my severe interest by yawning half way through the question.

“Ah, nothing Father. Look me and Worny is mates and nothing can come between us. He has his views and I have mine but unfortunately his views are all wrong and mine are always right and so I am going to belt the zark out of him, oops, Sorry Father, I seek means of a redemption through negotiation rather than senseless violence, ugh”. “What about Fark for captain?” I enquire. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe”

Hmmm, now lets see what Worny has got to say for himself. I visit Shame in the majestic mansion that he built for himself by being able to bowl spin, telling lots of other people to zark off and how great he is, yeah right. “Shame, dude, what’s this spat with you and Runting?” I ask showing my severe interest by yawning half way through the question. “Ah, nothing Father. Look me and Picky is mates and nothing can come between us. He has his views and I have mine but unfortunately his views are all wrong and mine are always right and so I am going to belt the zark out of him, oops, Sorry Father, I seek means of a redemption through negotiation rather than senseless violence, ugh”. “What about Fark for captain?” I enquire. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe”

Gee did you get a de jevu or what?  I mean are these guys similar. So I rings my good mate and colleague in India. The former test player now journalist Asif Iwood. “Asif mate, did Runting or Horrorwitch set bad fields in the last series?” I ask totally uninterested in the answer. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe.” Hmm, deep. We’re getting somewhere here. “So Asif should they have played two spinners?” I ask as it’s written on a piece a paper for me by some cricket nut job to ask. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe.”  Wow, mystical stuff.

So I rings the Bish “Hey Bish, it’s Sandy” I announce rather bravely. “Your money is as safe as the American banking system collapsing, Bish, Bish, are you okay?”

Good Stuff

02 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by Mark in Uncategorized

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

music, Steely Dan

Well, sort of ....

Hey,

Here’s a very good cover of a Steely Dan song called “Fire in the Hole” from the Dan’s first album called Can’t Buy a Thrill.

This guy knows how to play, I wish I could.

The Pig’s Arms Welcomes Reuben Brand

11 Saturday Sep 2010

Posted by Mark in Reuben Brand

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Pakistan, politics, Taliban

All good cyber pubs need a  foreign correspondent to keep the patrons well-informed and up to date.  Our man in the Middle East is Reuben Brand.

Reuben’s following article, “Pakistan’s dirty laundry” was first published in Online Opinion – Australia’s leading journal for social and political debate:

And you can see his portfolio at

http://www.reubenbrand.com/?cat=13

The ongoing war with the Taliban has nothing to do with freedom and democracy: it is a distraction.  Look beyond the curtain and you will find a lot of dirty laundry.

The war for civilisation, the war on terror, the war for oil, natural resources, control, freedom, whatever you want to call it, it is here and it has made itself quite comfortable in the minds, media and lounge rooms of the world.

Pakistan is now public enemy number one and the US are making no attempts at hiding the fact that they want to bring this nuclear armed Islamic Republic to its knees.  The war with the belligerent Taliban has become a joke, a proxy, and a distraction.  And of course, as always, it is the innocent civilians caught, quite literally, in the crossfire who suffer most.

Thanks to US pressure, and the basic ultimatum of “either you fix the problem, or we’ll do it for you – Iraq style,” more than two million people are now refugees, baking in the oppressive summer heat in makeshift camps. With no proper amenities, little to no medical services and living in appalling conditions, it won’t take long before serious disease and sickness sets in. Not such happy campers.

So what exactly is this indigenous Pakistani Taliban that we are so obsessed about? The reality is they are nothing more than an excuse, used by both East and West to justify more violence. Sure they have committed some heinous and barbaric crimes, but at this point in “the war” they are now seen as means to an end. Nothing more than pawns in a larger chess match for control.

“We are not fanatics! We want what everyone wants. We want to be able to live our lives in peace!” said Omar, a local Pathan businessman, as we sit in his office in the heart of Peshawar.

“The Americans continuously terrorise us with their constant drone attacks in the tribal agencies, the Taliban don’t make it any easier for us to live in peace and the media portray us all as terrorists! We are not terrorists!” he said with frustrated passion.

Another man then spoke up, telling me in broken English that most of what the West see are the actions of common criminals: “most of these men are not even Taliban,” he said, “they are criminals and miscreants who are bought by external agencies like the CIA and India’s RAW agents to further destabilise Pakistan”.

Later that evening Omar kindly offered to take me into the centre of the Swat Valley, a Taliban stronghold. I assured him that my fair Aussie complexion and somewhat pathetic excuse for a beard was no match for the trained eyes of Taliban spies.

“I like my head firmly attached to my body” I said jokingly. He laughed, “You will be perfectly safe when you’re with me. You don’t have to worry about security, this is our insurance plan” he said, handing me his Kalashnikov. “I drive into some very remote parts of the tribal belt and sometimes into Afghanistan as part of my job, so I need this (weapon) for my protection,” he explained.

Later we heard a huge explosion as we sat drinking sweet buffalo milk tea – a music shop had been blown up, it was just up the road from his office – the media reported it the next day as an act of terrorism and, of course, the Taliban were responsible. But Omar believed it was nothing more than the jealousy of a competitor who wanted to generate more business for himself. Who needs an expensive media campaign when all you need to do is blow up the competition and blame it on the Taliban?

So the Taliban have become scapegoats. One such incident came as no surprise as only a few days ago a friend told me about a mulvi (religious leader) from his village, who had been discovered as a Hindu agent working for India. The man had been posing as a religious leader; he taught Islamic scripture and led the prayers in the local mosque; but it wasn’t until the inquisitive minds of the local children began to probe that his elaborate ruse became undone.

They saw him dancing and listening to pop music in the mosque. On telling their parents they were quickly scolded and called liars, but as time passed and the so called mulvi began asking for food enough for 20-plus men each night, the villagers became suspicious.

When asked who the food was for he would reply “guests” but no one was seen entering or leaving the mosque, until one morning the villagers found a group of Taliban fighters’ asleep inside. So again, it begs the question: who are the indigenous Taliban if some of them are not even Pakistani? These faux Taliban fighters’ are an excuse; they are the perfect playing field for the political motives of external agencies bent on further destabilising an already unstable country.

(Cultural note to self: When posing as a religious leader in a village in Pakistan do not be so stupid as to have a Bollywood dance-off in the mosque!)

So why destabilise this third world country? What does it have that the rest of the world so desperately craves? It sure isn’t its open sewers and copious piles of garbage. You don’t think it has something to do with Pakistan being the geographic doorway to Asia and the Middle East do you? Unlike Iraq, Pakistan has nukes. Unlike Afghanistan it has Osama bin Laden. And of course, it has an oil and gas route that the US wants for its Trans-Afghan pipeline. Did I mention the nukes? Lucky Pakistan.

If left to its own devices Pakistan has the potential to become a very powerful and prosperous country. Agriculture would blossom in its extremely fertile soil; it has its own oil reserves, nuclear capabilities, strategic trade routes, and natural resources galore. But who are we kidding? The first world lives on the back of the third world. They carry us. Perish the thought of living in a world without sweatshops and soccer balls, fake Reeboks, child labour and bootleg DVDs. Without the third world we would have no first world.

To make matters worse, there are also whispers for the need to break Pakistan up into smaller nation states. If you take away the sovereignty of a country and it makes it a lot easier to control.

A good friend of mine recently had a gun held to his head and was robbed of all his personal possessions in Lahore, one of Pakistan’s major cities. A senior government official later told me that “when the crime rate dramatically increases in certain areas, it is usually a sign that the Taliban are on the move … They send out gangs of thieves to steal what they can as a means of funding their operations.”

Just like my friend in Lahore, Pakistan also regularly falls victim to the rule of the gun. But you have to ask yourself; what is the difference between a military dictatorship which oppresses its citizens and rapes the country via greed, power and fear, to that of another militant force that comes under the guise of religion? Both regimes share fundamentally flawed objectives. Pakistan cannot afford either if it wants to survive.

The sad reality now is that democracy has become a beggar in Pakistan: it lives, starving, in the minds of many while greed and corruption remain fat and opulent. The fanatical religious factions and corrupt politicians, who routinely bend to the will of external influence, are dividing the country and tearing shreds off any hope of Pakistan moving forwards.

Keep an entire country occupied with an internal threat and you’re well on your way to imposing pseudo democracy. Or maybe with President Zardari’s track record he has better credentials as a dictator. Either way, fear is a great medium for control.

Steely Dan – Kid Charlemagne

03 Friday Sep 2010

Posted by Mark in Bands at the Pig's Arms

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

music, Steely Dan

So I will continue to indulge myself with another Steely Dan track. From my younger years I got into this stuff just on the music. I never realised what this song was about but if you are interested go here.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kid_Charlemagne

Otherwise Just enjoy the rock/jazz fusion of the best band that ever came out of the US.

Steely Dan – FM

21 Saturday Aug 2010

Posted by Mark in Bands at the Pig's Arms

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

music, Steely Dan

One of the greatest pop songs never to really make it. Enjoy the extended jam at the end.

Hung’s Parliament

19 Thursday Aug 2010

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 38 Comments

Tags

Australia, humor, politics, tax

It’s a Hung House

Dear Julia and Tony,

Hi. Hung One On here. Look, I’m a nothing, yeah that’s right, a nothing but I have this thing called a vote. You want to know me when the election comes around but after that you don’t. You just go and do what ever you or your party wants to do. Then you will turn around and tell me that what you are doing is good for me. Yeah, sure, I’ll take a pay cut and lose compo rights so some CEO can go out on ten million. Give us a break.

See I’m in a safe seat, the seat of Port Adelaide. The sitting member is Mark or Michael or Matthew Butler. This guy will get in no matter what. I can vote for Donald Duck however the Labour bloke will get in. The Butler bloke doesn’t speak, text, phone or email. Yes, he did send me a letter once, wow, I almost once saw him at the supermarket and apparently he didn’t see me once at the art gallery. Overwhelmed, yeah, right.

Look, I’m writing to you as the current leaders of the political forces in Australia. This is addressed to you but it’s to all Australian political leaders, both past and present, government and opposition, to all those narrow agenda senators that thought they could make a difference. This is not personal however I address my concerns to you.

Will you negotiate with me over my income tax? Lets face it, both of you sat down with the mining industry and compromised on a deal, didn’t you? So I want you to sit with me an negotiate a deal for me to pay an appropriate amount of tax. See I’ve paid tax for 30 plus years. I effectively pay your wage. In theory you are my employee.

As my employee I now direct you to do the following,

  • Increase the mining tax to 60% and if they don’t like lets get someone who does.
  • Lets fix these basic issues, hunger, poverty, homelessness and hope
  • Lets tax the zark out of the rich to pay for the poor just like Robin Hood
  • Introduce Industrial Manslaughter so any CEO that disobeys safety and kills a worker goes to jail
  • Stop taxing the poor. $6000 tax free, what a joke.
  • Turn the tap off that sucks the Murray
  • Abolish state governments – old world stuff no longer needed
  • Bring back the death penalty for fine defaulters
  • Introduce a 4 wheeled drive tax on all non-country vehicles to 5000 percent value of vehicle.
  • Make Corporate CEO’s take a non benefit salary and tax the crap out of them. Then lets see how good they feel about things.
  • Allow outlaw motorbike gangs to executed on sight
  • No to gay marriage – we don’t want to inflict the gay community with the problems of marriage, now do we!
  • Legalise drugs. Prohibition hasn’t worked. Let’s get it under control. Do you want your partner, child, family member or loved one to buy a drug made by a bikie in a backyard or what? Wouldn’t a pharmaceutical dose of heroin from a chemist be better then a money bag from a bikie?
  • Lets arm the whales so they can fight back

Bugger it, you lot. I’m coming to parliament, Hung’s Parliament, Vote One Hung Parliament.

Written and authorised by Pee Dant for Hung’s Parliament Canberra.

Razzle Dazzle ‘Em – at the Pig’s Arms, Susan Merrell

13 Friday Aug 2010

Posted by Mark in Susan Merrell

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Inquiry, Marcus Einfield, Moti, Susan Merrell

Am I?

By Susan Merrell

While you were watching this ……

As I write, Australia is in the thrall of ‘Utegate’. It’s another ‘Ah ha! Gotcha!’ moment of which we are being served a regular diet.

Malcolm Turnbull alleges that the Australian parliament has been misled by the lies of government ministers. This, we are told, is a most heinous crime. Yet, politicians lie to the Australian public all the time.  In my book, this is a greater crime than misleading parliament. Yet they do so with impunity. So what’s this fuss really about?

This question can also be asked of the Tony Stewart affair. His Ah ha! Gotcha! moment occurred when he (allegedly) bawled out a staffer in public then held her leg so she couldn’t leave (allegedly). There was also that other grumpy politician, Belinda Neal, who (allegedly) yelled at a staff member at the Iguana nightclub then (allegedly) lied about it.

I don’t know about you, but, in the main, I can’t see what all the kerfuffle’s about. Politicians are certainly behaving badly. And when they compound the felony by lying their actions can only be judged as ignoble – yes, and sometimes even criminal. Nevertheless, our preoccupation with such trivial matters is elevating them to a position that isn’t rightly theirs.

In doing so, are important issues being overlooked? Indeed, are we being served up a mountain of trivialities in order to distract us?  Are the Australian public being razzle-dazzled?

Remember Marcus Einfeld? His Ah ha! Gotcha! moment came over a $77 speeding fine that he tried to get out of by lying to the courts. No doubt he behaved badly. He also paid a high price with a rather long custodial term. (Is he still in jail?).

When Einfeld’s case was all over the news there was another story of far more importance being played out in the background. It was largely ignored, not being nearly as ‘sexy’.

The same year (2006) that Einfeld had been prosecuted for speeding he had also been appointed by the government of the Solomon Islands to head up a judicial inquiry into the April 2006 riots in Honiara. The riots occurred because of popular dissatisfaction with the results of a general election – especially the appointment of Snyder Rini as Prime Minister.

The inquiry was very unpopular with the then Howard government as it intended to raise issues of culpability and incompetence of not only the Solomon Islands’ authorities but also of the Regional Assistance Mission to the Solomon Islands (RAMSI) -a body that had been formulated by countries in the region and headed up by Australia as a peace-keeping mission during the ethnic tensions at the request of the then Solomon Islands government. The request for assistance had come from the Prime Minister immediately previous to Rini, Sir Allan Kemakeza.

In the aftermath of the riots, Manasseh Sogavare, a more acceptable choice to the people of the Solomon Islands, subsequently replaced Rini. However, he was not so acceptable to the Australian government having always been a strong critic of RAMSI.

What followed was an international incident of significant proportions that contained allegations of corruption amongst Solomon Islands politicians, charges of bullying and overstepping their authority against the Australian government and RAMSI, High Commissioners being declared as persona non grata, illegal raids on the offices of Prime Ministers – and that’s not the half of it.

During most of this time we, the Australian people, were following, with bated breath, the Marcus Einfeld $77 speeding fine saga.

Perfect timing sustains the conspiracy theory.  On July, 13, 2006, Sogavare appoints Marcus Einfeld as chairman of the committee of inquiry – August 10, a criminal investigation into Einfeld commences while in parliament Alexander Downer announces that he has “concerns” about the Solomon Islands inquiry.

Disgracing the chairman of a commission so unpopular with Canberra would certainly put a spoke in the wheel. Wouldn’t it? And it did.

Yet only one commentator picked up on this. (Patrick O’Connor writing for the World Socialist Web Site.) Not even Einfeld himself gave voice to highly probable political motivations. I can only guess why not

In a serendipitous bonus for Canberra, as well as the speeding Einfeld, the inquiry would also deliver up another large target.

Lawyer, Julian Moti, later appointed Attorney General under the same Solomon Islands Prime Minister who commissioned the inquiry, Manasseh Sogavare, largely formulated the inquiry’s terms of reference.

After his appointment, it took the Australian government no time at all to resurrect a largely dormant inquiry into an old (1997) sex charge against Moti allegedly committed in Vanuatu while he was resident there. The judiciary of Vanuatu dropped the charge in 1999.

The Moti affair, had further international ramifications when the Prime Minister of Papua New Guinea, Sir Michael Somare refused to hand over Moti to Australian authorities to answer the charges and helped him reach Honiara.  Once there Sogavare also refused to repatriate him to Australia.

During the stoush that followed, allegations flew about corruption, bribing of magistrates and the right of sovereign nations to conduct their own affairs without interference.

Pacific relations had hit an all time low.

Yet we cared little for this as we got caught up in the Einfeld perverting the course of justice charge and the Moti sex-tourism charges.  (Moti was subsequently extradited back to Australia to face the charges when the new Island government under the leadership of Dr. Derek Sikua felt it was prudent to do so. His case is pending in the Brisbane courts as I write)

So, in spite of any crimes Einfeld and Moti may have committed (and do remember – no charges against Moti have been proved), I can’t help feeling that both of them are the scapegoats served up to distract us from seriously important political matters.

So what’s the real story behind Utegate?  Are you starting to feel like a fool whose righteous indignation will be used as a weapon for an unknown agenda?  Me too.

Susan Merrell – first published on Open Forum  http://www.openforum.com.au/content/razzle-dazzleem on 26 June 2009

Thanks to News for the loan of the Pic.

Glenda says Goodbye to Farrah Fawcett Majors.

23 Friday Jul 2010

Posted by Mark in Ladies Lounge

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Farrah, Oliva Newton-John, Pigs Arms, waxing

Yeah! Right!

By Madeleine

After closing, Glenda stood inside her quiet Pigs Legs Waxing and Beauty Salon staring at the poster of Farrah Fawcett Majors on the wall.  Her girls had left, and the closing night shone through the uncurtained windows giving an eerie glow to the hygenic tiles around the hair washing basins.

She sighed deeply and without knowing, picked up the razor, remembering the way she used to thin out the layers, Farrah-style.  There was a lot of servicing in Farrah hairsyle –  the cut, the layering, the colouring, the perm, and the big blow wave with the gel.

It was a good time, a big time, coming out of the au-naturale days of the early 70′s.  There was the Afro, the Olivia Newton-John Grease-style perm, the Bo-Derek plaits, but nothing was bigger than the Farrah.

Glenda had known about the anal cancer of course.  She’d talked about it several times a day since 2006.  Wherever the ladies were sitting Glenda was always on hand with a cuppa and a magazine – and six times out of ten, there was brave Farrah smiling from the pages.

Glenda hadn’t known she’d been holding her breath, but as she reached the moment of resignation it flowed, driving the lips of her lost-in-the-moment face into an unexpected pout.

A lift of her shoulders signalled intention, and with her new breath and life she walked over to the poster.  Carefully, reverently, she took it down.  She pulled off the bluetack that had been replaced several times, rolled it into a ball, and then lifted the razor to scrape off the final remains.

She stared at the poster one last time, remembering the time she wore her own hair Farrah-style – the night she kissed young Mervin.

“Goodbye Farrah” she said.  “I loved you.  And if I’d had your teeth, things would’ve been different.”

Glenda was sentimental, but practical.  She screwed up the poster, chucked it in the bin, drew the blinds, pulled on her coat, picked up her keys, downed the lights, took a last look around, blew out another goodbye, and shut the door.

She turned right and walked towards her car.  Then stopped, spun 180 degrees on her heels, walked back past her salon, and right into the Pigs Arm’s.  “Come in for a pink?” said Merv.  “Expected you tonight” he said in his one on one way.

She gave him a flick of her hair and a lips-sealed smile.  “Have Belinda bring it into the Ladies Lounge, Merv.”

10. Ur, um, the end bit

19 Monday Jul 2010

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

cricket, Father O'Way, humor, Pigs Arms, science fiction, Trotters Ale

The Joyous couple

Sandy here, back here on Earth and married to the beautiful Belinda, March 19, ouch, 21, okay, sheez! No need to be so touchy!  After a stay in the Regen-O-Bubble on Missen, Helvi and Belinda got rid of the little rodent Howard by blowing the zark out of him with a Waughhead [Thanks Waz,] The girls then did a pub crawl from Andromeda back to the Milky Way. Well, I must say, girls will be girls. Well I sort of wanted to stay on Missen. I had become used  to the way of life and  well, you know, shiraz, steaks and lots of things that now escape my mammary, er, um, oops, memory.

Anyhoo, Gordon has paid off the ICCB to go and zark off, the S.S. Julian II has rounded up a mighty cast and returned to Earth, yes that’s right Earth home now for Sandy and Belinda, no more space roaming for me. I’m a new man. It was an adventure being out there in space but give me the quiet parish life any day. See priests in my religion can get married. At our church you just insert the name of your God into out text sheet and away you go. No one cares about your views and everyone accepts each others rights to which fictional creature you want to talk to, everyone’s a winner.

Bishop Bishop performed the ceremony at the parish church of St Generic Brand. The post wedding party is at the Pigs Arms. Merve along with Granny and the two Vivienne’s, oh, yes, look the crew have come down for the wedding so we have the situation where like is meeting like, I mean its zarking freaky man, like imagine Voice meeting Catherine!

I look around the crowd and lots of people have turned up. Big M and Pussy Couscous have travelled from Missen. Zig and Zag have come from Zog.  Zig wants to begin tours to Earth  as Earth men are so easy, if you know what I mean.

It’s funny watching the crew from the S.S Julian II meet the locals at the Pigs Arms. The Vivienne’s don’t seem to be able to agree about cups. Astyages and Dave, the guitar droid, are working on a song list ready to play after the food has gone down. Helvi and the Helvi-tastic are agreeing on everything and everything while GO and Gerard are discussing Van Gough and Wagner. Emmjay and the first mate are swapping brewing techniques with Michael Jones, the publican of the Bats Droppings. Yes there all here. Even Mr and Mrs A are here, looking resplendid as usual and in deep conversation with Geo.r.ge.

I gaze at Belinda. She is beautiful beyond reproach. I am the lucky guy, I’ve won my lotto. Belinda has all her sisters for bridesmaids, Glenda, Juanita, Jacinta, Melinda, Rosita, Edwina , Sophia and Cassandra. Boy, am I going to have some birthday parties to go to, well, someone’s gotta do it.

I see Gordon, you know Gordon O’Donnell the creator of the universe, he has been busy having a few pints of Trotter’s Ale and approaches me. “Sandy, you old dog, got the pick of the bunch with young Miss Belinda” proffers Gordon, pulling back on a Café Crème “Yes, she’s a dish for sure Gordon” I answer rather distractedly as Gordon’s eyes have narrowed and he has grabbed me around the shoulder and pulled me in close to him. Is he batting for the other team? I think to myself “Sandy, look old chum there’s just one thing. I enrolled in uni next year and I need some help……”

[Authors note: Sandy was last seen in the back of an ambulance, in a white coat heading for the funny farm, yelling at the top of his lungs “PPPPPPPPPPPPPPiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggsssssss in ssssssspppppppppaaaaaaaaaaacccceeeeee.]

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