Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE: A Monument to Humanity’s Capacity for Cruelty

24 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by in Ricardo

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Oradour Sur Glane France abc

Story by Ricardo

The martyr village in France where time has stood still since 10th June 1944

Each year thousands of British tourists eagerly flock to the serene and picturesque heart of France via Limoges Airport yet many are blissfully unaware of the site of the Nazis’ most evil, cowardly and barbaric atrocity in France which lies just a few kilometres away.

So why is so little known about Oradour-sur-Glane yet far more people know about Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam and the work camp at Auschwitz?

Is there a sting in the tail?

Are a people haunted by guilt?

Oradour-sur-Glane is a tranquil village in the rural département of the Haute-Vienne: an area of natural, rugged beauty resembling a Gallic Peak District. An area famed for its cattle, hunting and porcelain, where eagles glide majestically through the sky and wild boar and deer live in the forests. An area where the locals are proud to call themselves ‘paysans’.

The Allies had successfully landed in Normandy several days before so the villagers may have already been looking forward to the ineluctable defeat of the heinous Nazi regime and a post-war return to a life of liberty, equality, fraternity.

Then the Waffen-SS came.

This village had probably existed in harmony with nature for hundreds of years until 10th June 1944 when a unit of Der Fuhrer Regiment: 2nd Waffen-SS Panzer Division Das Reich descended upon the village like a pack of wild dogs or rabid Alsatians.

No-one really knows why the SS decided to destroy this village and murder all its inhabitants. It was not known for harbouring the French Resistance or hiding caches of weapons. One story was that a German officer who supposedly escaped from the French Resistance told his superiors that they intended to burn him alive hence the SS wanted to seek retribution amongst the local population (a common practice within the German Army in both WW1 and WW2).

The SS rounded up all the males in the village and split them into small groups. They then shot them in the legs so they could not escape but would not die. They were then covered in kindling and set alight. The women and children were all herded into the village church where the Priest bravely tried to save them; telling the SS that the Catholic Church was a house of God and that these were innocent civilians who had harmed no-one.

Their response was to shoot him before barricading all the women and children inside the church before throwing phosphorous grenades inside: burning everyone alive.

One woman managed to survive by crawling out of a window and hiding in the fields until nightfall. A total of 642 innocent civilians were murdered that day including 247 children; the youngest victim being just 10 months old.

Only the men who had left early that morning to work in the fields had survived.

As a final insult, the SS buried what remained of the bodies in a mass grave.

The remains of the village rest as the French Resistance found them the next day. Charles de Gaulle insisted that nothing be touched. After 71 years, the Doctor’s car still stands idle, gently rusting away, next to the door of the house of the patient he was tending on that apocalyptic day.

The remains of a baby’s pram still lie near the altar of the church.

Bullet holes still pock-mark the walls of the church.

There is an eerie silence in the ruined village as though the local birds know to keep away.

Walking round the graveyard is a more harrowing experience as you pass one mass grave after another showing the enamel portraits of several generations of the same family butchered on the same day.

So what could drive someone to burn alive a 10 month baby?

Why would anyone want to kill an unarmed woman or child?

Could this type of atrocity still happen today?

Have humans learned any lessons from Oradour-sur-Glane?

Rwanda, Srebrenica, 9/11, 7/7, ISIS, Tunisia, the Ukraine.

What type of philosophy could turn a human being into a depraved murderer? Or is cruelty inherent in many humans?

In the case of the Nazis it was their hatred of Jews and Bolshevism. So why did they murder a Catholic Priest?

The SS was fundamentally split into two groups: the SS-Totenkopfverbände, or the Death’s Head Units, which ran the concentration camps and the Waffen-SS which was its fighting arm.

This particular Waffen-SS Unit had fought on the Eastern Front for several years where they were taught that Slavs were sub-humans (along with Africans) so were encouraged to annihilate everyone in their path.

Many Europeans were seduced by the odious philosophy of the Nazis and joined the SS. For Ukrainians it was the chance to kill the hated Soviets. Another little known fact of WW2 was that it was the Danish SS who were defending Berlin when Hitler did everyone a favour and committed suicide.

So many French joined the SS that they had their own, ironically-named Charlemagne Division. So what is the sting in the tail about Oradour-sur-Glane?

The fact that the French Foreign Legion eagerly accepted the SS into its ranks after WW2 and sent them off to Indochina?

Or the fact that the perpetrators were never brought to justice?

Or that the SS Officers were given sanctuary in the Soviet bloc after 1945?

Or something more shameful?

Something to ponder if you ever get the chance to visit the martyr village of Oradour-sur-Glane.

23E787A300000578-2866775-image-a-19_1418126393156

Cover Versions Revisited

22 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

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pigs fam fav 1-1

Playlist by Algernon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JGJXmpKGXY

Respect – Otis Redding 1965

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FOUqQt3Kg0

Respect –Aretha Franklin  1967

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vbg7YoXiKn0

Stand by Me – Ben E King 1961

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYGoCNvTtqg

Stand by Me – John Lennon 1975

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0aHmMfZTEw

Gloria – Them 1965

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxygqSTO1lQ

Gloria – Patti Smith 1975

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLoskF32tCU

I fought the Law – The Crickets 1959

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsS0cvTxU-8

I fought the law – The Clash 1980

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFU-FJzPE80

Why can’t we live together – Timmy Thomas 1972

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGVtzKYeAmQ

Why can’t we live together – Sade 1985

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01-2pNCZiNk

War – Edwin Starr 1970

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h__zgVz9fN4

War – Frankie goes to Hollywood 1984

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2WKoN8K6nI

Don’t leave me this way – Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes 1976

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifAtvI48R_0

Don’t Leave me this way – The Communards 1986

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSehtaY6k1U

Tainted Love – Gloria Jones 1964

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsMz9vIaLwQ

Tainted Love – Soft Cell 1981

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbxxkwBQk_o

Will you still love me tomorrow – The Shirelles 1960

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yLrSVD6380

Will you still love me tomorrow – Dusty Springfield 1964

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20qZtnODB0w

Mad World – Tears for Fears 1982

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4

Mad World – Gary Jules 2003

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubvYQxTXO3U

Sunny – Bobby Hebb 1966

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF6C9kkVzrQ

Sunny – Boney M 1976

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AO073fekFfA

Walk on By – Dionne Warwick 1964

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqfqVDHNW6c

Walk on By – The Stranglers 1978

The Greatest Wall of T-RUMP

21 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Neville Cole, Politics in the Pig's Arms

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T-rump patrol

T-Rump apprehends another drug-dealer/rapist/terrorist on the Mexican border

By Pig’s Arms North American Correspondent, Neville Cole

During his recent visit to Arizona – in which T-Rump miraculously managed to jam an audience of 15,000 rabid supporters into an auditorium with a seating capacity of 4,000 – the self-proclaimed greatest presidential candidate God ever created paid a quick visit to the Mexican border to round up some dangerous criminals, strike fear into the hearts of the Mexican government, and paint of vivid picture of T-Rump Immigration Policy.

T-Rump sat down with me briefly to discuss his vision before running off into the sunset to “kick some more Mexican ass before the day was done.”

Pig’ s Arms: Thank you Mr. T-Rump for taking time to speak with us today.

T-RUMP:  Call me Don! Or The Donald. Or Mr. President. Look! First and foremost let me say one very important thing. First I want to say that this has truly been a pleasure and an honor to be here today rounding up several hundred rapists and drug dealers that the government down in Mexico keeps trying to send up here to take over our great republic. If I could, and God’s knows how great I would be at it, if I could… I would spend from now until my inauguration patrolling this border from sea to shining sea with the possible exception of spending election night celebrating my victory at T-RUMP Resort and Casino in Atlantic City.

Pig’ s Arms: So, even after you are elected you would come back to patrol the border until the inauguration?

T-RUMP: Yes. See here’s the problem as it has been explained to me. The election don’t mean nothing right away. There’s supposedly this time after the election where everyone has to wait around for the paperwork to dry, or something. Which is one thing I am going to look at very carefully. I think the American people who will vote for me in historical numbers are going to want me to get to work right away. I don’t know why in this day and age we can’t have the vote and sign the paperwork that same day. I got the best paperwork people in the business. I do a deal with China we got the paperwork on the table ready to sign before they even know they want the deal.

Pig’ s Arms: Okay. Let’s jump to the day that… all the paperwork is done and President T-RUMP is in charge. What changes can people down here expect to see right away?

T-RUMP: Apart from streams of drug dealers, rapists and terrorists racing back across this border to get back to Mexico, you mean? I’m kidding, of course. That is going to happen as soon as I win the election. Once I am in truly in charge the real fun begins… I don’t want to let too much out of the bag just yet; but let me just say once people see my plans they are going to have to seriously look at changing the name of the so-called Great Wall of China ’cause that thing is going to look like a garden fence compared to the Greatest Wall of T-RUMP.

Pig’ s Arms: So it is true? You do plan to build an actual wall between the US and Mexico?

T-RUMP: I don’t know if “wall” is a good enough word for this thing I have planned. I got the idea watching Game of Thrones. You see, right now, the Mexicans are pretty much wildlings; but believe me, there are White Walkers right behind them. Well, not White Walkers exactly… more like Brown Walkers. Anyways, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

I will build the best wall, the biggest, the strongest, not penetrable, they won’t be crawling over it, like giving it a little jump and they’re over the wall, it costs us trillions.*  

Pig’ s Arms: Speaking of cost, do you still intend to make the Mexico pay for the wall?

T-RUMP: This is what politicians and laymen and pretty much all chicks don’t get. They don’t get how business works. Let me explain it to you:

Any savvy real estate mogul will tell you, is how it works. You build a big expensive thing and then hand someone the tab and they have to pay it. It’s the law.**

But, I’m not stopping with a Mexican wall. ‘Cause you know and I know that once we stop them coming in from down south they will find their way up north and start streaming in from Canada, so we are building a Canada wall too! This will be a bigger tourist attraction up there than Niagara Falls and Mount Rushmore put together. And then, let me remind you that many of them drug dealers and rapists and terrorists have boats too. So, The Greatest Wall of T-RUMP will extend into both oceans and the Gulf of Mexico as well. And here’s the great thing about that! We are going to build the wall on the American side of the oil rigs, so when they break none of that mess reaches US shores! No more oil spills! And not only that! Listen to this! Know what else we won’t have problems with once I build this wall in the oceans? Sharks! Why The Greatest Wall of T-RUMP will even stop hurricanes and typhoons! This country is going to be the greatest paradise God ever created… with a little help from yours truly, of course.

Pig’ s Arms: Wow, Mr. T-Rump, er… Don, I mean The Donald. Oh hell! Mr. President that just sound awesome in every way!

T-RUMP: I know it does. Let me just say this: this thing is just the thing that will make America great again. I want all your readers to know one final thing: I can’t wait to get started. Now, if you’ll excuse me I got some more criminals to catch.

t-rump

And with that… the once and future President was off and running and Making America Great Again.

* really real quote   ** another really real quote

To Mock a Killing Bird

14 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Neville Cole

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aiming gun

Die Mockingbird! Die! Die!

Neville Cole Reels the Tell Story ….

Harper Lee’s new book Go Set a Watchman is generating serious buzz and even more serious consternation. Critics, readers, and especially life-long fans report they have been left “shocked” and “aghast”at the revelations within. Those who, years ago, read Lee’s original draft, however; were not at all surprised by how far from grace the once noble Atticus Finch has fallen. 

 In the draft, known only by the working title Die Mockingbird! Die! Die! a teenage, but still grammatically challenged, Scout Finch, discusses, at length, the Finch family’s troubles after the Robinson trial. 

 I thought Atticus was feeble when he was nearly fifty. Hoo-boy! You sho’ have done seen him when he was nearing sixty. To be fair, the years after Tom Robinson’s trial weren’t easy on old Atticus. He kept getting calls to defend pretty much every innocent black man in town and every time he proved they didn’t do nothing of the sort and every time they hung the poor chump anyways.

“That’s justice round these parts, Scout.’ Atticus got to saying; “Guilty till proven innocent, then hung… then an alcoholic spits in your face.”

It weren’t much of a good time for me neither. Kids at school all start calling me Spit Ball. Like it was my face all them toothless racists drunks were spitting in. Try getting a date for prom when all and sundry look at you ‘an picture pickled phlem.

All in all, I guess it were much worse for Jem though. He dropped dead in his tracks one day. He were always so darn crazy for football; but, you know, Atticus would never tackle him. He’d always say: “I’m too old for that, son.”

Well, anyways, one day after his broke arm done healed good, ol’ Jem says he’s ready to play football again ‘cause one day he wants to go to Alabama and play for the Crimson Tide.

“An,” says Jem. “If Atticus won’t tackle me, I know someone who will.” ‘An with that, Jem, he goes next door and he calls on ol’ Boo Radley to come out an’ play football with him. ‘An Boo, you see, he don’t really know his own strength and on the very first tackle he done hit Jem so hard he broke his arm again, and both legs and cracked open his skull a bit as well. The doctor tried to bandage him up again as good as he could; but Jem died of the internal bleeding later that very night.

We was all plenty broke up about that for a while. Atticus was even more tired than ever before. He wouldn’t even sit in the livingroom and read at night no more. Actually, that was around that time he started the drinking.

Whenever I asked him why he’d say: “Remember, how I told you that sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse that a whisky bottle in the hand of another?”

“Yessir,” I’d say. “I do remember that. You said there are just some kind of men who – who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one.”

“That’s right,” says Atticus pouring out another five fingers. “Well, I’m finally learning how to live in this one the best way I know how.”

When Miss Maudie heard about that, she said she was going to have some hard words for Atticus; but he just told her that he always believed that when a child asks you something you should answer them. for goodness sake, and not make a production out of it.

Thing was though, Atticus started to pick and choose when he would answer me. The things I really wanted to know – like especially about boys and dating – he pretended he didn’t even hear at all; like he was deaf in both ears in addition to being blind in one eye.

Basically, like me, Atticus was born good and grew progressively worse every year. Then he up and stopped teaching me anything at all. Especially grammar and such things.

But worser than all the rest, was the day Atticus finally cracked. The fateful day he committed the ultimate sin.

I still don’t know how it all came to be ‘cause Atticus wouldn’t talk about it  except to say that I wouldn’t really understand because I couldn’t climb inside his skin and walk around in it so how could I even hope to consider things from his point of view? It must have been all them trial loses or all that spit in the face; but fact is, somewheres along the line, Atticus changed his whol’ mind about them mockingbirds.

Instead of him sayin’ them birds was singin’ their hearts out for us, he’d constantly complain about “that damn noisy bastard out back that never seems to shut up” and that “them mockingbirds aren’t smart enough to make up their own noises so they just copy all the other birds around instead only twice as loud so everyone gets to thinking it was their idea” and always he was saying that he’d bin “woke at the damn crack of dawn again because of them miserable mistakes of nature.”

Then that fateful morning out he staggers just before lunch; gun in hand, still reeling from all the whiskey he’d gulped down the night before, and he lifts that gun sight up to his good eye and mumbles:

“People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for… and I see one dead damn bird that I won’t ever have to listen to again.”

I knew Atticus was a good shot. He’d killed that rabid dog when no one, not even the sheriff dared to try. But, to see him pick off that tiny mockingbird at a distance of well over 100 feet, dressed in nothing but his night robe and barely able to stand from all the alcohol still surging though his veins. Well, frankly, it was time like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the craziest old coot who ever lived.

But you know, like Atticus always said: “You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ’em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.”

Las’ thin’ I ever want to do is look right silly.

Foodge 53 – Barristers Unite !

10 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 5 Comments

982829-052e7b24-85df-11e4-9f59-4e93e361b697

Simulated Photograph of Lawyers with Client

Story by Big M

Merv had been pretty depressed, since the Church of ISIS incident. He’d placed the entire Pig’s Arms on a war footing, after repeatedly contacting the NSW Pleece, the Feds, and then Crime Stoppers.

Manne and that Fijian bloke with the van had been stockpiling everything from apples to apple cider and beer to bananas. O’Hoo had been declared the Sergeant of Arms/armourer, and had amassed enough ordnance to blow up Inner, and Outer Western Cyberia. Hedgie had become the self appointed protector of the Bowling Ladies, escorting them to every meeting and game, even having a quick roll himself, on occasion!

The Hell’s Angles had set up a waste vegetable oil run generator in the cellar, capable of powering the entire building for two or more weeks. Granny and Foodge were at the sharp end, initially ‘surveilling’ the potential terrorist cell, then attempting to infiltrate. Granny had finally attended the church fete, only to find that it really was the Church of Isis, the Egyptian goddess, and not some gang of plastique wielding, disenfranchised youth. She even managed to flog off some jars of lemon curd.

Merv was now faced with the task of offloading half a ton of over ripe bananas and apples. He had already sold six cases of ‘South Sea Island Semillon’ to an unsuspecting restaurant owner with a new liquor licence. “O’Hoo, you’d know a few green grocers?” Merv ventured.

“Mate, you’ve already tried to get me to flog those bloody bananas, besides, I’ve got me own problems trying to offload three dozen world war two grenades!” O’Hoo skulled the last of his pint, then started off. “Might be able to get some pensioners up in Bowral to take ‘em…wonder what old Ooster-fella is doin’?”

“Another pint, Foodge?” Merv pushed a fresh canoe across the worn timber counter. Merv still felt somewhat beholden to Foodge for getting him through his WEA Literacy and Not Sounding Like a Fuckwit course. “You’re not tight with any green grocers?” Merv tried to sound nonchalant.

“Thanks Mr Merv.” As he took a pull from a pint, leaving a ‘milk moustache’ like a little kid. “The only person I’m ‘tight’ with is Granny.” Nodding towards his intended as she busied herself vacuuming up some fly shit, pretending not to listen.

Foodge had managed to flog down that pint, when he realised that a tall, grey haired gentleman was at his right elbow. “Publican, two more pints of whatever he’s having.” The voice was steady and clear, kind of commanding.

“Thank you kind stranger.” They clinked glasses.

Here’s to the law, and those who keep us rich by breaking it.”

Foodge wasn’t arguing, two free pints in as many minutes.

“I’ll cut straight to the chase.” The stranger nodded to Merv for another pair of canoes. “I’m looking for the finest legal mind in Sydney.”

Foodge looked around. There was no one else there, except for Granny.

“You, Mr Foodge, I need someone like you for a big case.”

“How big?” Foodge was no stranger to negotiation.

“Real big.”

“Mmmm…how big is that?” Foodge’s glass was becoming perilously close to being empty.

“Steak for lunch, and as much Shiraz as your liver can metabolise!”

“I know you!” Merv interjected. “ You’re that bloody Chris Murffy, the bloody criminal defendin’ barrister!”

“Yes, I am thanks, big man, just keep the beer flowing, and stop interjecting!” Murffy had stood up, trying to intimidate Merv, but found himself staring at Merv’s Adam’s apple, so sat down.

“Mr Foodge, this is a huge case, a local church, a church full of innocent folk, who’s only aim is to do good works and support the community, have been accused of being an ISIS terror cell by some Islamophobe, who has launched an attack by falsely reporting them to the local and Federal police, even Crime Stoppers.”

Merv had gone pale, then clutched at his chest, then collapsed.

“Quick, someone call an ambulance!”

 

 

FP2: SUCKS TO BE “D”

09 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by in Neville Cole

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images

Paige567830993 is a registered Artist (Class D) and as such is required to serve food and drink at Ye Olde Tavern Bowl for no less than 20 hours per week. After six months of servitude she can freely apply for a 14 day break and after 12 months she may even qualify for a 7-day vacation at one of several Class D resorts. While at the Class D resort she would be able to book services from an array others Class D specialists: Nail Technicians, Massage Therapists, Fitness Trainers, Indoor Surf Instructors, Indoor Golf Instructors, Bowling Instructors and the like. As a result of these generous government concessions, many Artists (Class D) become quickly satisfied with their status and never even bother to apply for Class C recognition; but Paige is not like other Artists (Class D) she actually still has a vision.

Paige567830993 lives in a shared Class D apartment in the Chicagoville Unified Art District (CUAD); which, though clean, safe, and comfortable, always seems to have at least one major appliance that requires repair. It being summer, of course, it is now her air conditioning unit that is operating at about 40% efficiency and Paige is forced spend all her free time of late personally submitting a service requests.

“Yes, Ma’am. There is some air moving through the unit but not the kind of air that can fairly be described as cool by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I see,” the Service Technician(Class C) on the other end of the VIDCOMM paused to take note of this evidence. “Not cool air, huh. If not cool, the how would you describe the air coming out of the unit?”

“Have you ever had a dog stand by your face and pant? My air conditioning unit feels like a big old dog is breathing in my face.”

The Service Technician(C Class) was appropriately sensitive but non-committal. “Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very nice at all.”

“No, Ma’am,” Paige reiterated. “It is not a pleasant experience.”

“What is the unit’s current efficiency rating again, darling?” The tech had already requested this information four times. Paige couldn’t help but sigh softly; but she was careful not to actually flinch or display any visual signs of frustration. To do so would only serve to delay any useful activity on the part of the service technician. An actual outburst could result in disconnection and an immediate request cancellation. That would mean she would have to start over whole process over again the following day – after an appropriate cooling off period.

“Currently it is working at 42% efficiency, Ma’am. But, as it is now the middle of summer, I think that qualifies as an emergency level malfunction, doesn’t it?”

“The middle of summer is still 7 days away, dear.  And 42% efficiency is actually very close to acceptable operation for a Class D unit.” The tech paused, in part for dramatic effect but mostly to see – one more time – if she could get Paige to crack. Paige wasn’t falling for that old trick. She was resolute. “Ok. Let me see what I can do…how about I come around Friday morning first thing sweetie? Let’s see if I can’t get that old unit up over 80%.”

“That…” Paige gasped with genuine gratitude, “That would be so, so great. You don’t even know how happy that would make me.”

“Aw…ain’t that sweet. It warms my heart to hear you say that, darling, honest it does. But you don’t want to hear about anything being warm now do you, hon?” Satisfied that she had made this Artist (Class D) sweat it out long enough, the Service Technician (Class C) was content to move on and torment the next poor Class D sap she had waiting on hold. “See you Friday then, babe. Bright and early!”

“Thank you, again.” Paige added for good measure before disconnecting. “I really reallyappreciate it.” Then, as the screen went blank, she sank down against the wall and began to sob like a baby. “Damnit,” she snarled eventually. “If I don’t get re-classified soon I swear to god…” But, before she said out loud what she felt inside she decided to flip her whole mood. “myMuse.” She said quietly. “Access Beach Boys. God Only Knows.”

As a registered artist – even at the lowly Class D level – Paige had unrestricted access to most the art, writing and music did still exist. Most recorded music, of course, had been erased during the Last Great Data Dump (LGDD). It was actually quite a marvel that such an unforgettably beautiful song as God Only Knows was still around. It gave Paige a momentary glimmer of hope.

I may not always love you / but long as there are stars above you / You never need to doubt it / I’ll make you so sure about it. / God only know what I’d be without you.

“How could it possibly be,” she wondered out loud, “that a simple Company drone got a hold of something like this?” Before Paige had time to ponder this more, Sheridan634027008 burst through the door.

“Oh my god! It’s as hot as Madonna’s sweaty ass after an extended encore in here! When is that damn air conditioner going to work?”

“They’re coming Friday. It’s all taken care of, myMuse off.” Paige lifted herself off the kitchen floor as she knew that Hurricane Sheridan would soon carry her off on some new adventure.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sheridan said, kissing the hot air around Paige’s face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t have the patience to deal with those people. You know I’d go right to: Bitch! You come fix this fucker right this very moment or… And then… Click, Zzzzip…and then I have to listen to that annoying-ass bitch that only knows how to say the one goddamn thing: Home and Energy Services welcomes your call. Please call again at a more appropriate time.”

Sheridan, like Paige, is an Artist (Class D). He also works at Ye Olde Tavern Bowl but he spends just about every other waking hour (and many of his non-waking hours) at the totally classless establishment known at L’Dragge Cabaret. You see, Sheridan634027008 is better known around the Arts District as, the one and the only Sheridan L’Dragge.

Cabaret had long been declared dead before Sheridan L’Dragge staged his now infamous Drag Resurrection. Officially, of course, drag is still dead. Were it not for the fact that the L’Dragge Cabaret rarely appears in the same location more than a few nights in a row, Rights and Permissions would have shut it down months ago as well.

This primary issue R&P have, of course, is Sheridan’s lack of a Performance House License and, in addition to that, there is his tendency to allow patrons of every class in to any show and then there is the totally unscripted and therefore wholly unregulated nature of his act. But, above and beyond all these misdemeanors, there is his peculiar insistence on using his pseudo-surname in all his publicity material. Surnames, of course, are deemed relics of The Age of Unenlightenment. Although they have not yet been outright outlawed, their on-going use by anything less than the few remaining traditional Class A “families” is most definitely frowned upon. It is widely known that if you are not a Rothschild, a Murdoch, a Koch, or, at very least, a Bush, you really have no reason to go around flashing a surname around in public.

“Girl,” Sheridan said twirling Paige around in a tight circle. “You are one hot mess. We need to get you out of this sweat box and pamper your soul with a mani pedi before Rock and Bowl tonight.”

“I got to get out of this dump, that’s for sure.”

“Well, let’s go! This one is on me, babycakes. I owe you for dealing with that service bitch all on your lonesome; but first, you might want to take a shower and put on something less…damp.”

As cool water splashed against her face and ran down the length of her body causing goosebumps wherever it flowed, Paige began to sing, quietly at first but line by line with more and more passion.

If you should ever leave me / Well, life you just go on believe me / The world would show nothing to me / So what good would living do me / God only knows what I’d be without you / God only knows what I’d be without you / God only knows

“Dang,” Sheridan said sipping on a pink kool aid margarita. “Girl’s got some serious pipes when she lets it all hang out.”

Foodge 1

06 Monday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Just for old time’s sake !

Therese Trouserzoff's avatarWindow Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

I’m usually more careful than that.

I could sense the sickly smell of blood.  My hand was in a wet pool.  Too soon to open the eyes.

A small panel beater was hammering out the dents on the inside of my eyeballs and my mouth felt like a camel train had camped there overnight.

Whatever was out there on the other side of my eyelids was going to have to wait until the hammering eased up a little.

But the headache was not the main problem.  Beyond the headache, the right cheek of my arse was screaming louder than my head.  I decided to feel it.  Mistake.  It was wet.  It was wet with my blood.

I had taken one in the backside for the good guys.

But there was no wound.  There was a welt though.  I could feel that well enough.  I crawled across the threadbare Axminster into…

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A different take

05 Sunday Jul 2015

Posted by in Algernon, Bands at the Pig's Arms

≈ 2 Comments

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, , , , , , , , , , ,

phil spector revisted

Phil Spectre taculous

Playlist by Algernon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHNdQJPmTRU

See my baby jive – Wizzards

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxuThNgl3YA

Born to run – Bruce Springsteen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD4sxxoJGkA

Wouldn’t it be nice – Beach Boys

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrK5u5W8afc

Unchained Melody – The Righteous Brothers

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN9n1bAahg4

Across the Universe – The Beatles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXq81-cGJr4

I saw the light – Todd Rundgren

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QGMCSCFoKA

Bat out of Hell – Meatloaf

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3ir9HC9vYg

The sun always shines on TV – a-ha

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJ9rUzIMcZQ

Bohemian Rhapsedy – Queen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-OTd7DXjlo

Da do ron ron – The Crystals

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZV5tgZlTEkQ

Be my baby – The Ronettes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IdEfcsjhGE

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot me down) – Cher

Future Perfect* 1 – Love and Bowling

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Neville Cole

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

journal

*future perfect: a verb form or construction used to describe an event that is expected or planned to happen before a time of reference in the future.

FP1: In Which Harold 263840771 Will Have Found Love

We are but open books. Our pages, torn and scattered, all too soon forever lost.

From future perfect by W.H. Hopwood​

It was a slow day at The Company. It often has been lately. Ever since the Great and Final Merger (GFM), things have basically taken care of themselves. Harold 263840771 learned long ago to take full advantage of days like this. He opened Listr and prepared to compile a new TO DO list. It soon became clear, however, that there wasn’t much left outstanding for Harold to do. His Aeron Ultima+MAX froze in rigid stillness, his eyes fixed intently on his UXHD180 monitor, his ten fingers poised over the keyframe, ready and willing to lay the groundwork for future success. Which is all to say, it was certainly somewhat shocking when Harold suddenly digirote out in all caps: FALL IN LOVE.

Harold stared at the words in silent disbelief. Did his brain really just direct his fingers to hit those twelve particular frames (caps lock and two space bars included) or was this strange message merely the result of some random reflex action? It was intriguing to be sure. The longer he lingered over the Listr note, however, the more import the moment took on. Harold’s love life, or rather the lack there of, was the elephant in the room. An appropriate life partner was the missing last piece to the virtual jigsaw puzzle that was Harold’s existence. It was time to complete the picture. It was a task, in fact, that was long overdue.

“Damn straight,” Harold muttered. “It’s high time this cowboy found his lady love. Maybe even get hitched.” Laughing off the idea of a marriage proposal for now, Harold scheduled a two-week reminder. Fourteen days, he reasoned, should be time enough to have had at least a candidate or two in place.

“Now,” Harold told himself, “I need to find someone to fall in love with.” Thankfully, Harold knew someone who he knew could help.

Stanley 038795011 had been in love literally dozens of times since he and Harold first met at The Original Company Holiday Party two years previous (before GFM). Stanley was probably the only real friend Harold had. Not a hang-out-after-work-and-go-bowling kind of friend exactly, but definitely a share-a-lunch-table-in-the-cafetorium type friend. Harold was glad to see Stanley alone in the cafetorium on this most important occasion.

“Stanley,” Harold said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Mind if I join you?”

“Why no! By all means…” Stanley shot back, sensing instinctively that he should match Harold’s energy. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Harold was happy to get right to the point. He had no time for the tedious ritual of daily small talk to which so many seemed devoted. “I need to find someone to fall in love with. Preferably within the next two weeks.”

“I see,” said Stanley in all seriousness. “Well, you’ve come to the right person. I’m your man. First we need to gather data and align characteristics that describe your perfect woman. I do assume that this is a woman you seek.”

“Yes, yes. Of, of course…a, a woman.” Harold stammered in part because frankly he hadn’t even considered any of the other options Stanley was suggesting.

“You are in luck, my friend. I have recently developed an app that can pinpoint exactly who and how and, more importantly, where to find the lifemate of your dreams. I have been beta testing it myself for some time now; but I certainly welcome the opportunity for fresh data. I will need just 15 minutes of your time to develop a candidate profile. When would you like to start?”

“I’m ready any time,” Harold said excitedly.

“Sadly, I have to return to my desk in twelve minutes,” Stanley replied glancing at his lifewatch,” otherwise I’d say let’s do it now. How about we meet at Ye Olde Tavern Bowl after work and take care of this matter today?

“Great,” Harold nodded. “Ye Olde Tavern Bowl, after work. Certainly. Sounds like an exceptional plan. Well, that’s that then.” Harold reached out, shook Stanley’s hand, and wandered off in what can only be described as a mental fog. There were so many conflicting thoughts and confounding questions bouncing around his skull he could barely manage to control his basic motor functions. The anticipation he felt was so great that Harold could not help but check his lifewatch every few minutes all afternoon long. On several occasions he grew suspicious that time was actually folding in on itself and possibly beginning to reverse. He took this as a sign he should refresh his basic understanding of quantum mechanics and the time/space continuum which fortunately allowed the rest of the day pass much more rapidly and by the time Harold looked up from his monitor again he saw that it was indeed, after work.

It was Lawn Bowl Tuesday at Ye Olde Tavern Bowl and most all of the young Company associates of all four (or was it now five?) genders were dressed in classic whites and forming teams.

“Looks fun, doesn’t it?” Stanley said looking out over the artificially sun-drenched fauxlawn. “But we have work to do, my lovesick friend.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Harold agreed, pulling up a chair across from Stanley’s VituaPC mobile workstation.

“Is that the new VPC?” Harold asked. “I haven’t actually seen one before.”

“You simply must order one,” Stanley said without looking up. “It is the most powerful virtual mobile workstation ever developed. I couldn’t live without it. Now. First things first. You are no doubt curious why I didn’t just give you my app and let you input your data yourself.”

“It did cross my mind, yes,” Harold nodded.

“Well, here’s the thing,” Stanley said, finally catching Harold’s gaze directly. “I haven’t done much QC on this thing at all. You are frankly the first trial case other than myself. Though I must say my own results have been nothing short of spectacular. That said, my UX is rather rudimentary and my immediate fear is that erroneous data entry on the users part could seriously impede the output. I just want to ensure all the evidence is empirical, if you catch my drift.”

“Of course,” Harold said yet again, continuing to nod back and forth as Stanley talked like a bobblehead doll.

“And besides all that,” Stanley continued while pulling what looked like some kind of digital stethoscope from his backpack, “there is the matter of the input device.”

“What is that thing?” Harold asked.

“I’m toying with calling it the loveometer but I’ll probably leave that whole area to the branding folks.” Stanley leaned forward to attach monitor strips just below Harold temporal lobes. “Here,” he said, handing Harold the third strip. “Slip this under your shirt directly over your heart.”

“Over my heart?”

“Yes,” Stanley laughed. “It really isn’t completely necessary but I think it’s a nice touch, don’t you? The point of all this is that the loveometer does not require you to think at all. You don’t have to read anything. You don’t have to physically process anything. And that’s what makes it so powerful. You can’t lie yourself or simply imagine you know the truth. All you can do is listen and leave the rest to your instincts and the loveometer. Now. Put in these earbuds and close your eyes. Forget everything, Harold, and listen.”

Harold had no idea what would happen next; but had he guessed for a year or more he would not have been prepared to hear the two big bold A Major chords that followed or Reg Presley of The Troggs wailing Wild Thing!

It was a shock to the system to be sure; but before he could adjust to this stimulus the music changed and Lionel Richie was crooning quietly in his ear: Hello. Is it you I’m looking for? Then, immediately thereafter Harold was dancing cheek to cheek with Ella Fitzgerald. On and on the songs flooded into his subconcious. His mind was awash with sound, color and meaning. From When a Man Loves a Woman Harold tripped to The First Time Ever I Saw Her Face. Then Cherish was the word he used to describe and just as surely as My Baby Just Cares for Me, The Way You Look Tonight, lead Harold to The Power of Love. 

So many melodies, so many emotions… but Harold could see something was missing. He had no actual memories he associated with any of this music. That realization filled him with dread. As each new song was introduced he grew more and more impatient to the point of being physically repulsed. He thought he might soon throw up. By the time Brian Wilson’s high falsetto started to sweetly to swoon God only knows what I be without you, he could take no more. He violently tore at the earbuds, threw open his eyes, and blurted: “I’m not sure this is for me at all!”

“I’m sorry,” the server who was at that very moment placing a blueberry pomegranate wheat ale in front of Harold replied. “Your friend told me that’s what you would want. Is there something else I can get you?”

“What? Sorry… Oh? No. This is fine. Where… Where did he go?”

“I’m not sure,” the server said. “He was here. Wow, you are really into music aren’t you? What are you listening to?” The server, who Harold was just beginning to realize was quite young and quite blond and very attractive, picked up his earbud off the table and held it to her ear. “Oh, my god! I love this song. No wonder you were a million miles away. Wait? It’s changing? Oh, this one is great too. You have excellent taste in music.” She handed the earbud back to Harold. “Funny…”

“Funny?” Harold repeated.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. But… You don’t look like the romantic type. What’s your name?”

“Harold,” Harold said shyly. “Harold 263840771.”

“I don’t need your number, Harold” The server laughed. “We’re not getting married. Not yet anyway. I’m Paige”

“No, ha!” Harold blushed. “Of course. Not yet. Ha. Nice to meet you, Paige.”

“I don’t know that I’ve seen you here before, Harold. Are you just visiting?”

“No. I…” Harold wasn’t quite sure how to explain himself but he knew he didn’t want to admit the truth. “I work for The Company. Ah, my friend and I were thinking about taking up bowling.”

“Oh you should. We play every Wednesday. Rock and Bowl Wednesdays. Have you heard of it? You’d like it. Great music.”

“Oh, yes? That sounds…pretty awesome.” It was the first time in Harold’s whole life that he had uttered the phrase “pretty awesome” and he was not entirely sure why he had done so just now.

“What are you, doing?” Stanley burst into the conversation in full panic mode. “The data! You’ve ruined the data! Why did you stop?”

“I’m sorry,” Paige said stepping back from the table. “Did I do something wrong? I just brought over your order.”

“No, no,” Harold told her. “Not at all.” Then he attempted to stand and therefore ripped both monitor strips from the sides of his skull. “It’s no problem. Think nothing of it. Every thing is fine. I was just…testing a new app for my friend. It’s…all good.”

“Ok,” said Paige. “Well, nice to meet you… Don’t forget about Rock and Bowl Wednesdays.”

“No. Yes…” Harold nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. For sure. Sounds…awesome.” After that Harold stood about shifting his stance and smiling unconvincingly while Stanley fretted over his data, and Paige looked puzzled, then laughed sweetly, and finally moved off to check on another table.

“Harold” Stanley said slowly lifting his head from his workstation. “This is quite remarkable. Don’t ask me how or why but data does not lie. It is very clear. Right here. She’s the one!”

“I know, Stanley, I know” Harold laughed and a shit-eating grin grew across his whole face. Then suddenly he remembered something that shook him from his reverie: “Damn! Stanley. Do you know how to bowl?”