Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Power to the People

07 Monday Jul 2014

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Story by Emmjay

“Fucking bastards !” said Merv, peering at his electricity bill.

“My son !” said Father O’Way.

“No, MY effing sun, Father” said Merv.

“Pardon ?” said FOW.

“It’s the pub electricity bill, Father” said Merv, handing over the offending epistle.

“Mother of all power bills !” said the good father.

“Telling me”, said Merv.

“Look at this, Father” said Merv, pointing to two little pieces of malfeasance on the part of Orgasm Energy.

“First”, continued Merv, “The bastards jack up the hourly rates EXCEPT for the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep cuddling up to the missus and generating their own electricity”

“Well, for SOME”, said FOW.

“Sorry, Father, I forgot” said Merv. “And check this out… you know how we put in solar power on the roof of the new ballroom and bowling alley….. well the mongrel bastards cut the rate they pay us for generating more power than we need in the peak period”.

“Seems unfair” said the good father.

“UNFAIR !” Merv was wound up and under full power himself now. “Check this out, Father. “Peak rate they charge me when Granny fires up the wedge frier – is 45 cents per kilowhatsit. The only rate they pay me is 4.7 cents per kilowhatsit – and the bastards reduced that from a whopping 5.1 cents, said Merv.

“Fuck them. Pardon me, Father”, said Merv.

Father O’Way took out his rosemary beads, looked into the middle distance and had a silent word with his boss. More accurately, his boss’ boss.

“Father ?” said Merv, pouring the shepherd of St Generic Brands another Trotter’s Ale.

There was a huge distant rumble. The lights flickered and the pub emergency generator sprung into life, keeping the vital supplies of Trotter’s Ale in an appropriately chilly state.

“Phew,” said Father O’Way. “For a minute there I didn’t think you had a prayer”.

What’s Eating Tony Abbott?

24 Tuesday Jun 2014

Posted by in Neville Cole

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Story by Pig’s Arms North America Correspondent, Neville Cole

The best thing about being the Pig’s Arms North American correspondent is the unspoken freedom I have to do whatever it takes to chase down a story.  Interestingly, I have learned over the years that the best stories don’t have to be chased. The best stories come to you. The trick is letting them find you.

This can be tougher than it seems. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve sat for hours at the bar of some swanky hotel eating mixed nuts and ordering overpriced cocktails waiting for something important to happen; but, every now and then, it does.

Case in point… Not long ago I was hanging out on the beltway, working the angles, trying to wrangle an exclusive with President Obama when quite by accident (or was it fate?) I happened to spot this miserable-looking bloke sitting all alone in a dark corner. He appeared to be quite literally crying in his beer.

When he lifted up his face to the flickering light, I could just make out that it was none other than reigning Australian Prime Minister, Tony Abbott. I decided to see if couldn’t cheer the poor bastard up. I ordered up two Pink Fizzes and wandered over to make my acquaintance. Here’s how our conversation went:

Me: Hey bud… You look like you could use a drink.

Tony (wiping eyes): Wha? Who? What?

Me: Pink Fizz?

Tony: Oh… Ah… Sure. Why not?

Me: Tough day?

Tony: Wasn’t supposed to be. This was going to be my chance to shine. I met with POTUS today.

Me: You met with the President of the United States? Wow!

Tony: He’s POTUS, so what? I’m the PMA. I was born for this job! People know I get stuck right in to it and that’s exactly what I wanted Barack Obama to find out for himself. I didn’t tell him just what he wanted to hear either. I let him know what I thought of his taxation policy for a start.

Me: How did that go over?

Tony: How do you think? He looked at me like I had just floated in to town on a boat.

Me: That’s not right… He may be the leader of the free world; but you’re the wonder down under and if anyone knows about unfair taxation policies, it’s you.

Tony: Thanks, mate. That’s kind of you to say; but, to tell the truth, I don’t feel like the wonder down under. Right now, I feel a lot more like poor old Jesus.

Me: Jesus?

Tony: Cause I’m being crucified in the press.

Me: What for?

Tony: For one, they’re all saying I’m not a real conservationist.

Me: You’re a terrific conversationalist! I can tell that right off the bat…

Tony: That’s what I was telling that Barack Obama. I told him I reckon we all should rest lightly on the planet. I let him know that the terms “conservative” and “conservation” have common root cause both of them mean keeping all the good stuff for ourselves.

Me: Sounds like the two of you had a very constructive and genial discussion.

Tony: I thought so. I just want to do the right thing by our planet, you know. That’s why I keep in such close contact with all them forestry blokes and mining companies…they’re the ones out in the field. They are in touch with the earth every day. They know what’s going on. But this Barack Obama…to be honest, I don’t think he got where I was coming from.

Me: Too bad George W isn’t running things still…something tells me you and he would’ve see eye to eye.

Tony: Of course. You see. The great thing about GW is… he knows Jesus. I was trying to tell Obama that he needs to get his Immigration thing under control. I told him that Jesus was the answer because he knew that there was a place for everything and that’s it is not necessarily everyone’s place to come to Australia or America either for that matter. Obama looked at me like I was from outer space… then I remembered… he’s a Muslim.

Me: Of course!

Tony: Well, everything went to hell in a hand basket after that. Who would ever imagine that you can’t talk about Jesus in America? He was practically born there! Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned being the PMA, it’s that with great power comes great envy. You find out real quick that everyone is out to bring you down. You know right away that every little thing you say will be taken out of context and blown up completely out of proportion. You can’t even have a laugh with a 62 year old sex worker anymore. You can never take a single step wrong. Until you walked a mile in my shoes you don’t know what it’s like to be me. No one can live up to all these expectations.

No one can be the suppository of all knowledge! Not even me…

Me: I’m…lost for words.

Tony pulled his mouth into a tight smile, put a hand on my shoulder, and said quietly, almost wistfully: “I know mate, I know. Me too.” Then he thanked me for the Pink Fizz and walked off alone in the Washington night.

Editor’s note:  Neville didn’t specifically say that Tony didn’t pick up the tab.  He’s that kind of guy.

Enlightenment Becomes Father O’Way

20 Friday Jun 2014

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Story by Emmjay

A dejected Father O’Way pulled up a stool and waited for Merv to pour him a ‘Szarz n soda’.  Merv was experimenting and climbing on the wave of overpriced cocktails.  He had decided that his signature cocktail was going to be a whimsical butcher-inspired number with three parts Johnny Whacker Red, one part soda and one part crispy bacon rind crackling bits.

Father O’Way looked dubiously at the concoctiontail and sipped as he would if it was a Dubonnet and lemonade.

I despair he said to Merv, dispensing with the quotation marks.

Oh, why is that Father ?  Did the Bish actually put the skids under St Generic Brands ? said Merv, for whom the lack of quotation marks was proving difficult since he wasn’t clear about where he was supposed to come in or whether he was supposed to say “he said”.  He decided to wait until Emmjay came to his sentences and began to put the punctuation marks back in.

“Ok” said Emmjay from the margin.  “Icon take a hint”.

No, said Father O’Way.

“Emmjay, Father O’Way isn’t using punctuation marks again”, said Merv.

“All right.  All right”, said the good father in an exasperated tone. “I’m exasperated by the utter shwistle young people are reading these days.  You remember when Pix magazine used to publish outrageously lurid, but funny articles like “Two-headed pensioner refused second pension – Outrage” ?  he said.

“Yeah, that one really cut me up father.  I mean that sounds pretty unfair on a pensioner.  He did actually have two heads.  I saw the picture” Merv said.

“It was a bodgied-up picture, Merv.  There was no damned two-headed pensioner”, said the good father, self-censoring himself. “Oh yeah,” Merv said, perjuring himself in God’s eyes.

“Well,” continued Father O’Way, look at this tripe” he said, thrusting the latest copy of “Men’s Health” in the general direction of Merv.

Editor’s note:  Astute readers with hi-res screens may be able to detect that it was not actually the latest edition of Men’s Health, but it was the latest one in Amal Gam (the Erko dentist’s) waiting room.  Amal (he called himself Dr Amal, but everyone knows he’s just a dentist) noticed the good father reading the august tome and reluctantly parted with it.  He was reluctant because he thought Mitchell Johnson’s wall-to-wall smile was good advertising.  Not that Mitchell was an habitué of Amal’s ‘You killem and I drillem’ salon de dentine, mind you.

“This is fraud, Merv” said the good father.  “Look at this”, he said pointing to his own well-upholstered midriff.  “Build a warrior body in four weeks! I’ve been building a warrior priest body for forty years and it’s still a work in progress.  And look at this…” he said “Eat pizza, lose weight”.

“What kind of mugs do you think these bozos take us for ?” said Merv, pretending that he had grasped what Father O’Way was on about.  In truth, Merv was considering another eye-catching piece titled “8 sex moves to blow her mind” and he was about to borrow the mag for a closer critical review, but Father O’Way was on a roll and had moved on to “Burn off the Belly”, Psych Out Your Enemies”, “Schmooze the In-laws” and the debatably useless exhortation to “Ride a Stampede Bull”.

“Stampede !” said Father O’Way.

“Surely they meant ‘stampeding'” said Voice, satisfied that she had trumped Emmjay by engineering a single quotation mark inside a double quotation mark.

“And that Mitchell Johnson quote !” said Father O’Way … “You can never think that you’ve made it”.

“Like not even if you’re the spearhead fast bowler who single-handedly demolished England five blot ?” inquired Hung.

“Ah, it’s a total wank,” said the good father, who was picking up Hung’s argot at an alarming rate… without really having a vast understanding of what it meant except that Hung usually said it when he wanted to express a lack of appreciation for something.

“It says ‘the magazine men live by”, said Father O’Way. “Does that explain the depressing state of play ?”

“No, we thrashed the Poms”, said Merv.  “That bit at least is ridgy didge”.

“What about that other headline Merv ?” said Voice. “Never need glasses. “Pour me another plastic canoe of Trotter’s Ale”, she said.

“Very funny”, said Merv, discreetly feeling under his apron to see how his warrior body was coming along”.

“Geeze, a 58-inch  Plasma TV for envy reader !” hooted Hung, thumbing his way to page 82 – the first page some gullible punter in Amal Gam’s waiting room had torn out. “That’s a bit depressing”, he said, handing the mag over to Merv.

“I dunno” said Merv – whose mind had turned to planning an eight part romantic pantomime.

“I wonder what happened to that two-headed pensioner”, said Hung.

The Beatles 50 years on – Part 1 1962-1965

15 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Algernon

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Playlist by Algernon

This week marks 50 years since the arrival of The Beatles in Australia. I’ve prepared a two part list withs some of their music from 1962 to 1970.

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

Love me do

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he0B0VMxCsw

Please Please Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0YifXhm-Zc

She Loves You

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MHkgwA8t-g

I want to hold your hand

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVlr4g5-r18

Twist and Shout

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T098BBuvmjs

All my loving

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=venzPNvge18

Can’t buy me love

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

A hard days night

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJImvBHeo8Q

I should have known Better

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPKYPI1jjdg

If I fell

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTr8h4MkSYw

I feel fine

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMxyK9azXR4

Ticket to Ride

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNahS3OHPwA

Help

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WQAl5nJWHs

Yesterday

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asf8KLYQh60

We can work it out

Paris, Cherchez La Femme

13 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by in Emmjay, Foodge Private Dick

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Story by Emmjay

O’Hoo looked phased. It was a single phase, not drawing much current. He was unshaven, gaunt. Not exactly fully gaunt; it wasn’t that bad. He was more gauntlet than gaunt.

“You look …” paused Merv.

O’Hoo frowned.

“Drawn” Merv said. “Not exactly ‘drawn’, more ‘sketchy’ than ‘drawn’” he said, pouring the detective a glass canoe of Trotter’s Old, named after Hung’s horse. It was a former pacer (the horse not the beer) and had successfully adapted to Hung’s milieu of fast women and slow ponies.

“Have you seen Foodge ?” O’Hoo asked to no-one in particular, but if he was more particular, he would have admitted he was talking to Merv, particularly since the bar was empty save for the two of them.

“He’s been adopting a low profile. Well, not exactly ‘adopting’…” said Merv, “more like fostering”. He paused. “Not the beer, O’Hoo, you know the thing where you mind other people’s kids for a while so the parents can get stoned more and the kids can nick your stuff and pawn it to buy the parents more drugs”.

“The Dickens” said O’Hoo. “Like Fagin in Oliver Twist ?”

“I’d say he was being more like a nancy boy, O’Hoo” said Merv.

“More pork or chalk a lager yaya” said O’Hoo, inadvertently joining in with Labelle’s ‘Lady Marmalade’ – playing on the Wurlitzer.

Merv ordered up a schnitzel and poured O’Hoo another beer – a Trotter’s Ale this time.

“Wise Foodge laying low ? said O’Hoo.

“Yeah he is” said Merv.

“No, it was a question” said O’Hoo.

“Well how come Emmjay wrote ‘wise’ ?” asked Merv.

“I think he’s doing the chemical enhancement thing,” said O’Hoo. “That or he’s off on a pun spree again”.

“How did you know it was a question ?” asked Merv.

“Are you reading the script right ?” said O’Hoo.

“Are we working off a script ?” asked Merv. “Unusual for Emmjay”.

“True” said O’Hoo. “Now where was I ?”

“You were asking me some pointless thing about Foodge” said Merv.

“Oh yeah. I was wondering why he’s lying low” said O’Hoo.

“Who ?” asked Merv.

“Foodge, said “O’Hoo.

“Oh, Foodge !” said Merv. “Is he lying low”?

“YOU TOLD ME HE’S LYING LOW” said an unusually phased O’Hoo.

“Oh, yeah, I did, ” said Merv. “Why is he lying low ?”

“Yeah”, said O’Hoo.

“Dunno,” said Merv.

O’Hoo’s schnitzel arrived with a generous pile of Granny’s wedges, sour cream and sweet chilli sauce. O’Hoo warmed to the prospect of savouring the wedgie goodness.

“Hmmm” said O’Hoo.

“Hmmm” said Merv, ordering himself a chaser.

“Hmmm” said Foodge.

“Shit !” said Merv and O’Hoo in two part harmony. “Where the fuck did you come from ?”

“I’ve been laying low” said Foodge.

“We’re past that bit,” said O’Hoo. “Merv cocked it up on the last page”

“Are we working off a script ?” said Foodge.

“We’re past that bit too” said Merv.

“What’s my line then ?” asked Foodge.

“I think we’re up to the bit where you tell us why you’ve been laying low” said O’Hoo.

“Oh, righto” said Foodge. “Ready ?”

“Yeah, we’re ready” said Merv.

“Roger” said Foodge.

(pause)

(pause)

“Well ?” said Merv.

“It’s complicated” said Foodge.

It was looking like a long afternoon coming, so Merv poured another round and drew up a chair. Not satisfied with the comfort, he rubbed out the first attempt and drew one with more padding.

“We have all day” said O’Hoo.

“Really ?” said Foodge.

“No, not really” said O’Hoo who, visibly, was losing the will to live.

“Her name is Paris” said Foodge.

“Aha ! Cherchez la femme !” said Emmjay who had dropped in to see how things were going with the script.

“Is this really credible ?” O’Hoo wanted to know.

“What Foodge going to ground over Paris ?” said Emmjay.

“No, the whole script !” said O’Hoo.

“What script ?” said Merv, who clearly wasn’t on the same page – which was not surprising since the script had taken on a life of its own and was pouring itself a glass canoe of Trotters, waiting for Merv to find his place behind the bar.

“I think it works… in a fashion” said Emmjay.

“I’m a work in progress” said the script, downing the last of his Trotter’s Ale.

“Well, fucking do it yourself” said O’Hoo to the script.

Emmjay took out an eraser and deleted O’Hoo from the remainder of the scene and scribbled “Directions Off” in the margin.

This was not the first time Emmjay had marginalised O’Hoo and something told O’Hoo that it probably wouldn’t be the last. The script looked at the fresh wound on its abdomen, sighed and poured another drink.

“Paris, France ?” asked Merv, suddenly lurching into real time.

“No, Paris Brown” said Foodge.

“You mean the lady of dubious repute working at Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain ?” said Merv.

“Yeah” said Foodge, “The one who was Eddie O’Bad’s favourite”.

“You’ve been seeing Paris Brown ?” said Merv with a mixture of incredulity and admiration for Foodge’s hidden talent. “In a professional capacity, Foodge ?”

“Kind of” said Foodge.

“Your profession or hers?” said Merv.

“It’s complex” said Foodge.

 

 

 

 

Welly

10 Tuesday Jun 2014

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Welly

Welly

Story and Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

On the way to the station I passed a house with a small box lined with newspaper outside. A kitten box devoid of it’s occupant. I found the kitten under a grate but I couldn’t catch it and I stopped and considered cancelling my work for the evening. But I am poor, I went on. On the way home I stopped at the convenience store for some chicken nuggets. The kitten was no longer under the grate but wailing in a carpark against a wall, and he was easy to catch. Too easy, sadly, and although I tried to help him he died after two days. I was carrying him to the animal doctor.

On the last day I came home and found his condition had suddenly worsened. It was four hours before the animal doctor opened. I painted his picture on a board and frame I found in the garbage.

His name was Welly.