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Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

~ The Home Pub of the Famous Pink Drinks and Trotter's Ale

Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

Category Archives: Foodge Private Dick

Foodge Episode 70.25 Follies for real

15 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 13 Comments

Foodge prepares for work...

Foodge prepares for work…

Story by Big M

Granny was in tears. A woman crying was one of those things that made Merv very uncomfortable, like the Minstrel Cycle, and watching childbirth. Merv decided to take the bull by the horns. “What’s going on Granny?” As he draped a massive, muscular arm around her quaking shoulders.

“I…can’t…say.” Granny’s words came in sobs.

“Go on, love.” Merv was quite tender for an ex-boxer.

“It’s him.”

“Who?”

“Him.”

“You mean Foodge. What’s the feckin’ toe rag done now?” Merv was getting emotional, which for him, was like being constipated, but more so.

“Don’t get angry with him, I don’t think he can help it!” Granny was still shaking.

“Don’t get feckin’ angry. What can’t he help?” Merv examined the knuckles of his right hand.

“Wearin’ dresses!”

“I knew he was a bit soft around the edges, but dresses. How do you know?”

“Well, since he’s been staying at the Pig’s I’ve been doing his washing, so this morning I took three of his white (formerly yellow) business shirts to hang in his wardrobe, opened the door and what do I see? Long black dresses!” Granny buried her face into Merv’s chest, smearing his best Pig’s Arms singlet with tears and snot.

“Right, we’ll see about this!” Merv took off to the Gentleman’s Bar, where Foodge was enjoying a pint of Best, with a beer chaser.

“Good morning Mr Merv.” Foodge sounded ebullient. “I’ve got some excellent news that should make everyone happy!”

“’appy, you’ve left Granny in tears upstairs. Let’s go an’ see why!” Merv did his best to avoid dragging Foodge upstairs by the ears.

“Granny in tears, but why? This is great news for her, too.” Foodge downed his pint, and then took to the stairs.

“Let’s ‘ave a little look in your room, then Foodge.” Merv sounded menacing.

Foodge opened the door and stood back for all to see.

“And the wardrobe!” Merv stood clenching and unclenching his fists.

Foodge flung the wardrobe door open with great aplomb.

Merv reached in and dragged out two dresses in in one paw like hand. “What are these? Pole dancin’ outfits.”

“Oh, those.” Laughed Foodge. ‘That’s my good news. I’ve been re-admitted to the Bar. I just need to get my old wig dry cleaned, then I’ll be back in full form.”

Oh Foodge, you’ve done it again!

Foodge enters the bar...

Foodge enters the bar…

Modern Merv

05 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 13 Comments

Terry-Thomas_and_Red_Skelton,_1967

Foodge and Merv

 

Foodge was looking pensive, no worried, no pensive. Hang on, make your effing mind up and decide. Is Foodge pensive or worried? Who are you? Me? Yes you? Dunno, anyway pensive Foodge was worried about Merv. Ewe no, if I can keep this up, I can see that pensive may take over from ennui or even worse, yo.

Ever since Merv got his mobile phone all he does is walk around all day with his head down, looking at the phone. It seemed so incredibly marvelous that he devoted all of his time to his new toy.

“What’s the time?” says Foodge, hoping for some sort of reasonable answer.

“Dunno” replies Merv.

“What about your fancy purse carrying nancy boy toy Merv?” retorts Foodge.

“Piss off dick, get it, dick, Foodge the private dick, ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah” Merv says politely.

“Wot’s all this about?” spurts Sister Yvonne.

“Well, Merv has this new modern contraption called a mobile phone and he cannot take his eyes off it to save his life” informs Foodge.

Sister Yvonne grabs Merv’s phone.

“Merv, this isn’t even turned on you bozo, what the are you looking at?”

“Well look at this.” Merv shows Sister Yvonne a reflection of himself in the screen area of his phone.

“Well get my donkey, have you been whisking the primate?” interjects Nurse Barbara as she chews on barbecued goat’s testicles on a stick, downs a pint and sucks a fag, yes, everyone, this is what multi-tasking is really all about.

“Ask Gib W to fix it, he nose dem fings” says Angler, fresh from holidays, tanned and relaxed although a little bit windy, maybe one to many tacos perhaps, or was it sailing? hmm.

“I’m on knight shit, I work at night and it is shit. I’m not available in this dialogue. Please direct any other enquries to Box XYZ in your capital city” replies Gib.

“Shit, piss, fuck” roar the crew.

[Can anyone contact the author? Having trouble, square brackets are supposed to do it]

[Hmm, cough, snort, cough, more coughing, get the picture, what?]

Foodge in the meanwhile decided to give up looking pensive or worried to the point of ennui.

[Interval music]

Now, while we are taking a break here I

[Sorry, I was taking a break. Even writers need a break.]

[[Sorry, I was taking a break]]

[[[Really, really sorry, I was taking a break…]]]

Ennui any one?

Foodge Episode 70.125 – Nothing is Real

19 Sunday Jun 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Foodge rocks on

Foodge rocks on

Story by Mark

Foodge had a worried look on his face as he entered the front bar of the Pigs Arms. He cast his eyes around and notes the usual crowd is in, all probably trying to stay out of the rain and the warmth of the open fire this time of the year is very comforting and addictive.

“Canoe of Trotters Best pleas” requests Foodge.

a dickhead

a dickhead

“Piss off dickhead” replies Merv.

Well, poor old Foodge was taken aback. While his memories of last night and in fact of most last nights was a little hazy, he could not remember insulting, abusing or assaulting any one which in itself is odd.

“Wots your problem Merv?” asks Foodge.

“Gawn, fuck off” continues Merv in his usual laconic style. You know the type, attack first ask questions later, hmm, yes, very laid back indeed.

“What…” says Foodge but Merv pipes in.

“Hey Foodgy, like my new way of creating some controversy at the beginning of the story to keep folk interested?” inquires Merv.

“Well different I suppose but then again this is the Pigs Arms. Anyway Merv old boy there is something wrong with rock” says Foodge as he takes a long draw of beer to help calm his nerves after Merv’s new way of making friends and influencing people.

“Well ask a bloody geologist not me, I’m just a dumb waiter” laughs Merv unable to control himself.

Meathead or close

Meathead or close

“No, rock and roll you goose. Meathead had to fall over on stage to get noticed and seeing that he had two hits 40 years ago maybe that’s his new stage act, I dunno. Then my favorite band Bled Kremlin have been charged with playger something that means ripping off someone’s song” replies Foodge rather long windily not realising that the author is a lousy typist.

“And two great songs they were” interjects Nurse Barbara “two beauts just like mine” as she flashes her delightful front verandah to the cheers of the crowd, no PC here thanks.

“Yeah, wot was they, a song about a girl and another song about a girl” laughs

Sister Yvonne

Sister Yvonne

Sister Yvonne as she takes another drag of her smoke then downs a tequila shooter and a beer. Oh yes, we are all equal at the Arms. “Wot about you Hung, ewe gorgeous arsed little creature?”

Hung's arse

Hung’s arse

“It’s the gubbermint trying to repress the working class with neo fascist chemical weapons juxtaposing the syntax of the modern day man.” Gordon bloody O’Donnell, why did anyone ask him.

“It’s fucking homophobia” says Gib W “perpetrated by the main stream media. Anyone seen Angler.”

“I’m on holidays and I’m not in this episode” says Angler.

“Oh, come on then hph. Me you and Hung can go and shoot some commies or even better some neo-cons” says Gib.

“No fanks, I prefer more beer” replies hph.

“Actually me too. Merv drinks all round. Put it on Father O’Way’s tab pleas.” says Gib.

Cheers all round from the crew.

Trotters Best

Trotters Best

“Shut up you lot. It says Foodge Episode 70.125 – Nothing is Real at the top of the page so it’s my story. This is important. The neon-fascist regime, otherwise know as ABBA fans, are out to get us” implores Foodge.

“Well Bled Kremlin have form, it isn’t like they have never done what ever that word is before” says Sister Yvonne.

“Well” says Nurse Barbara “If the riff to Staircase to Kevin’s has been around for ages how come Bled Kremlin were allowed to copyright it in the first place?”

Nurse Barbara

Nurse Barbara

Silence falls upon the Arms to the point a pin dropping and hitting the floor could heard down the road and round the corner.

Game, set, match.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foodge – 70 – Hung the Maths

03 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 13 Comments

Foodge, fart arsing around as usual

Foodge

Wow, I’m overwhelmed. Anyway Foodge was worried because all of his bag men had delivered to the right political party, if you get my nuance. Now it looks like they is gunna friggin lose the election. Best way to check how an election is gunna go you ask some of the patrons or even better you get Merv to do it.

“Hey patrons?” questions Merv.

“Fuck off, yes, wheeze responsible, past the bong Hung?” says Gib W.

“Pint’s all round on Gordon” cries Merv.

“Just one thing, whoose is ya votin for? You can earn a quick fiver here” continues our eternal barman.

“The sum of the square of the something equals the some of the square of something else” interjects Gerard, trying to raise the bar a bit in the debate. Worked beautifully on this crowd.

“I’m voting for good manners, fair hearts and equally to all, now where’s that fucking pint,” Angler On seizing the moment.

Mucho laughter.

“That quip was brought to you by Tindneo, Tindneo Tindneo Tindneo, the game book_him_danothat always let you win much dough dough, dah, dah, dah” sings a robot flown in for the gig at Gordon’s expense. Fancy that, a walking talking pokie machine, for gawds sake, whats next. Serves beer as well oh yes, bring it on, oops, sorry, now the rest of the story,

“I’m voting for Fuck All” says Nurse Barbara ” that way we all win, we get sweet FA and they will know SFA”

“It’s the gubbermint trying to put down the gubbermint, oops, working arses, um classes, what did I mean anyone know?” enquires Hung. “Anyway pass the bootleg?”

“I’m voting for Politicians who Stitch their Arses Up Party. Some say they are one platform but wow, Id like to see that plus their shoes, hmm, if ya know what I mean and their tight little bums and their big d…[Okay Yvonne: Mark here, too much flirting causes an author alert]” purrs Yvonne, finally wearing some clothes, even though it’s only a scarf.

“Wheel” says Gib W “How about the Purse Carrying Nancy Boys Party!”

“Purfect” cry the rest, all the hard decisions over, over to the bar for a few ales and a pizza and just forget about life for a while.

Hmm, I think I can hear grass growing…, thinks someone.

Lahmacun-(turkish-pizza) Courtesy: SBS Food

Lahmacun-(turkish-pizza) Courtesy: SBS Food

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foodge 60.8125 OPCD

04 Monday Apr 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 4 Comments

Fern

Fern

Fern was super excited. She was almost finished her on-line, accredited by the Online Association of Personal Trainers, Personal Training Course. It was her first day of ‘gym experience’ (not clinical experience, HOO) at the local boxing gym, run by ex boxer and academic, Doc Morton. “Now, Ms Fern, a lot of these early morning trainers are pretty hard core, and probably won’t be interested in too much input, but just hang around and see what they get up to.” There were already a couple of broken down boxers skipping and treating the punching bags like a young George Foreman. A rattle of the main doors interrupted them. In stepped Granny, Merv, and a red faced, puffing Foodge, resplendent in a Howardesque green and gold tracksuit.

Granny3

Nice arse

“Ah, granny.” Enthused Morton, as he stepped over and kissed Granny on the cheek, then hugged Merv.” How’s the rehab coming on, Mr Merv? Foodge, you’ve decided to re-enter the world of boxing, can I introduce you all to our first personal training student, Fern? And, Fern, It’s my honour to introduce you to former bantam weight champion, Granny, former heavy weight champ and local publican, Mr Merv, and the finest Private Detective in this country, Mr Foodge!”

Granny and Merv nodded, whilst Foodge could barely contain his hostility (the gentle reader may remember that, as Foodge’s secretary, Fern had embezzled millions, or hundreds, or perhaps dozens of dollars from Foodge, Very Private Dick). “If there’s any tips you need, I’ll be around.” Fern sounded hopeful.

Merv and Foodge popped on some gloves and started sparring, while Granny moved into her usual Monday workout. She always liked to start with a heavy canvass bag, just to warm things up. “Now, Granny, an older person, such as yourself, shouldn’t do any bag work without gloves!” Advised Fern.

Granny didn’t look up. “What, to protect the bag from the callouses on my knuckles?”

Hmm

Hmm

Fern moved on to give some friendly advice to Merv and Foodge, who were content to practice sparring. Fern noticed that Granny was now doing deadlifts, by herself, with no supervision. “Granny, and older person, such as yourself, shouldn’t perform deadlifts without straps, you could hurt your hands.”

Granny ignored her, and kept adding on weight plates and lifting. When she had finished she turned to Fern. “Eight reps at a hundred and twenty kilos, without wraps isn’t bad for a fifty five kilo ‘older person!”

Fern had no response so decided to give some nutritional advice, as she was launching her own brand of supplements. “Mr Merv and Foodge, would you be interested in my new Nitric Oxide Blaster, it opens up the muscle arteries and flushes out toxins!”

“Nitric oxide supplements are bullshit.” Replied Merv as he helped Foodge on the dip bars.

“What about my new testosterone enhancer, Testmax?”

“The best testosterone booster is a good workout, and a good root!” Merv was already thinking about Janet’s role in the latter.

“Well, I’ve got a new protein matrix drink coming out soon.”

“Listen, luvvie, Granny does all our cookin’, you should speak to ‘er.” Merv was

Sister Bullshit

Sister Bullshit

actually pretty impressed with Foodge’s performance on the dip bars. “Come on Foodge, punch another rep out!”

Fern bailed Granny up. “I have a new range of protein supplements coming out, Granny. Would you be interested?”

“Me and my boys are doin’ pretty well on a diet of bacon, eggs, wedges and assorted veges, thanks!”

Granny was starting some chin-ups. “Oh, no, Granny, an older lady like yourself shouldn’t by doing wide gripped chin ups, it says it in the Personal Trainers’ Manual.” Fern clearly had learned nothing about ‘older people’ this morning.

“I’ll tell you what, young lady, let’s have a little comp, you and me, and to make it interesting, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if I can’t do ten more reps than you.” Granny was heartily sick of this upstart.

Fern thought this would be a doddle, after all, who was the personal trainer?

The pair went rep for rep on the chin up bars for about twenty then stopped for a breather. Neither showed any sign of weakening. The next twenty were a little bit slower, but the competition had attracted a small crowd of veteran athletes, who were mainly cheering for Granny.

“This is too easy, grab us some weight vests, Doc.” Yelled Granny as she flexed her biceps. Doc Morton brought out some weighted vests, ten kilos each.

Me again

Me again

“You choose, Fern.” Fern weighed each vest in her hands, then donned one, whilst Granny strapped on the second vest. They continued, Fern was much slower with the extra weight, so Granny just kept in time with her. This time they stopped after ten reps. “Another ten kilos in the vests, Doc!” Yelled Granny.

They started another set, but, suddenly Fen let go of the bar, collapsing in a quivering, sweaty mass. Granny continued, with the crowd counting down the last ten reps. Granny continued faultlessly. “Three, two, one.” The lads gathered around Granny, everyone hugging her, or shaking her hand. Doc Morton stepped forward and held up her right hand. “The undefeated chin up champeen, Granny!”

Foodge felt a great surge of pride, as well as a great surge in the trouser department. He and Merv stepped forward to escort the champ back to the Pigs Arms.

Fern turned to Doc Morton. “You don’t have an opening for a secretary, by any chance?”

The Three Wise Women

The Three Wise Women

 

Foodge 60.75 Ongoing Meaningless

03 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 39 Comments

Merv

Merv

“Well fuck me” says Merv in his usual laconic style leaving no holes barred. “Fucking Emmjay has decided to to turn up about six episodes ago and is whinging like a Manly supporter”

“Hoos Manly?” enquires O’Hoo seeing that his tablets have not taken affect and he is worried about the effect they will have on his penis, not that he uses it, well except for granny, in his dreams.

“That dickhead ewe no ToeKnee Abbott, the drop in arsehole” says Gib W flicking fly shit from the mouth of his stubbie and wondering why he is in this series.

“Fleas gentleman mind your language, me and Nurse Barbara are easily offended”

Yvonne

Yvonne

informs the drop dead gorgeous Yvonne, pictured to the right as requested.

“Huh, what is off endened?” asks Angler On as he sits quietly listening to some old music on his head phones, The Band for example.

“Abbott is off ended by some arsewipe that took his job” informs Merv.

“Shit” says Nurse Barbara

“Shit” says Yvonne

“Shit” says Merv

“Shit” says Gib W

“Shit” says Angler

Emmjay

Emmjay

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit” says Emmjay in an effort to catch up on a few episodes.

Did I leave any shit out? Says the author.

“Oh well, fuck Abbott. Trotter’s and Pink drinks all round” says Merv.

“What about me, it isn’t fair, blah blah blah…” says Emmjay struggling to keep up.

“Well fuck you” replies the chorus from the front bar. Seeing Emmjay is so far behind no one really cares about him anymore except he pays the bills I guess.

“Look if you haven’t been bothered to keep up with this series it’s your own fault Emmjay” gloats Yvonne with her highly recognizable fingernail, “Tough titties”

“But I’m just a jealous guy blah blah blah…” cries Emmjay as he struggles to think of another song to suit his circumstance.

“Well I’m a rhinestone cowboy etc” says O’Hoo hoo recently had ect.

“Keating, ‘…fundamentally, he’s a cherry on top of a compost heap. The great risk for Malcolm is that he doesn’t remain a cherry, but turns into a sultana.’” relates Gib, just to throw a sultana in the serial.

jdncouchmainweb

Nurse Barbara

“Christ” says Nurse Barbara

“Jesus” says Yvonne

“Gordon” says Merv

Gib W

Gib W

“Father Fuckhead” says Gib W

“Hmm” says Angler

“Hey hang on a minute. I’m in this episode, why don’t I have anything to say?” calls Emmjay.

“Well, old mate, it’s like this, keep up or go away” informs Merv

“Keep up or go away” replies Emmjay

“Yeah, fuck off, well unless it’s your shout” states Merv.

“Oh, some time, is there anybody out there, hmm…” sings Emmjay, desperate to get back into the the story.

“We don’t need no education, dah dah dah, we don’t knead no thought control, there’s lots of hazards in the classroom, hey, teacher, leave those kids alone, all in all your just another brick in the wall” etc. continues Emmjay

Can anyone else but me see where this is going? Don’t think so. Fifteen more words to 500 and counting,

one, two, three, four

tony-abbott-thinks-too-hardwe don’t need no tony abbott

malcolm turnbull has sold his soul

lots of hazards in the parly

they all bend to thought control

……..

Foodge 60.725 The Inner Cyberian Cup

30 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Angler, Foodge, Gib W, Mark, Nurse Barbara, O'Hoo, Yvonne

Story by Mark, Edited by Big M

merv 2

Polished balls

Merv was worried. Foodge had become more mentally disturbed than usual, so it was likely to be about a woman, or a man, but probably a woman. Merv panned the bar and spotted the usual characters, minus Foodge, who had gone to get his balls polished, bowling, that is, and thought to himself that he should do something a bit different for the patrons. Hmm, the the Inner Cyberian Cup was coming up, he thought, maybe he could get granny to do some food and get everyone to chip in and have a sweep.

“Thanks, Merv, for the embellishments” says Gib W as he picks fly shit his jacket , ignoring the wedges and sour cream on his shirt. “I’m still not sure whether Foodge has played hide the sausage, we may eventually find out. The events in Brussels Sproits are particularly disturbing.”

“Hope you don’t mind me asking Gib but what the fuck are embellishments?” asks Merv.

“Dunno” replies Gib “ it’s in the script, it’s a really big word and I think it’s those things you put on your sausage, like tomato sauce” informs Gib.

nurse02

Nurse Barbara

“This sounds like men only business. So pretend I’m not here and keep chatting.” Says Nurse Barbara downing a pink drink shooter followed by a canoe of Trotter’s Special while she lights her fag. Hmm, thinks Merv, these nurses are good at multitasking.

“I dunno, Barbara, knowing Foodge, not much happened, aside from a post imbibing fart-fest” Informs Gib, whilst nodding towards his own empty canoe.

“And we’ll eavesdrop … er, um, … listen” says the picturesque Yvonne who is sitting next to Nurse Barbara, sipping her pink drink and wondering what has she gotten herself into here.

“Yes, rough talk at the Gentleman’s Bar. The last time the women folk eavesdropped on the fellas around the BBQ they learned plenty about solar panels, storage batteries, and losses due to localised heating within DC leads” says Gib scratching at his navel, dislodging enough belly button fluff to stuff a small pillow, and giving all us patrons insight as to what men really talk about at BBQ’s. Yes rough talk indeed.

“Do they serve horse meat here at the Pigs Arms? Just asking” enquires GO, the distinguished artist and author, married to the beautiful H

“Hope so Gerard. Most of the supermarket chains do” chimes in O’Hoo as he checks to see if his leg bag is full.

“These moderators at the Drum are driving me mad, all I said was that Onanism suits you and they didn’t effing publish it, oops, wrong story, lets see, that’s right I didn’t make a comment” realises hph returning to the Drum to fight for the cause.

“Its what they do with old racehorses isn’t it” says Angler On as he studies the form guide.

Random Photo of George the Cat

Hmm, fritters

“I was at a horse auction recently and even young ones go. If they look good as lasagne or ravioli then they are in trouble” interjects O’Hoo, forever the foodie remembering his own mother’s cat fritters.

“Well if horses were bred like cattle where for eating that would be OK but to do so as they don’t sell or are trouble isn’t. Many in Outer Cyberia eat horse”. Says Angler On.

“Yes I agree Angler, eating is very cultural. What actually upset me more was a young thoroughbred was led into the ring, very handsome chestnut called Burger. The auctioneer kept calling out ‘Must be cooked though before eating, suitable for freezing, great with chips and salad.’ Several of the horses were referred to in this manner and are sold with or without sauce” says O’Hoo suddenly an expert on everything horse.

“My step sister is married to a Henchman” says Gib “Loves horse so much that he will eat them without tomato sauce” admires Gib. In fact not even Smokey BBQ thinks Gib, now that’s tough.

“Granny does a lovely Goat Rogan Josh” say Angler.

“Rogan Josh was a racehorse. Nothing to do with Phallic Symbol though. On the other hand I do like a good goat curry.” says Nurse Barbara butting her fag out and wondering if the author actually knows where this story s going. [Authors Note: No idea actually]

“Yes, a friend won a fair bit of money off Rogan Josh, only because they had Indian takeaway the previous night. Sued for salmonella, made a motza” says Merv.

“I went to school with Rogan, we studied Horseplay together” states O’Hoo in his usual uninformed way. “Hmm, sounds good, suddenly my kids look attractive”

imagesTOR600JI

Goat curry

“DG, you’re joshing. You would eat your kids?” exclaims Gib.

“Gib, would I ever Josh you” laughs O’Hoo, he he he he “Lets face it they are about as useful as cats”

“Nope,I didn’t go to school with anyone named Phallis, but there were plenty of Richards” says Angler missing a few lines of script.

“My mother in laws name was Phyllis, is that close?” says Yvonne reading a line meant for O’Hoo who had taken himself to the Mens seeing his leg and colostomy bag were full.

“She told me, marry who like except a black or a Catholic or even worse a black catholic. Then I took Hung One On home, a Chinese black catholic. With gubbermint help and plastic surgery Hung turned into an Anglo-Saxon-Celt atheist, wheeze got along fine after that.” finishes Yvonne as O’Hoo returns and orders another canoe.

[Hey editor Yvonne here, this doesn’t make any sense]

[Don’t worry Yvonne it never does]

“The name of our English Head was Richard Head. He was such a lovely bloke that very few of us took to the piss” laments Gib.

sarnoff_roses43

Nursing student

“When I was a nursing student I looked after a chap called Richard Head. After handover I would go and talk to all the patients in the ward, mainly just to suss them out a bit. Anyway when I got to the said gentleman and said my name was Barbara he said ‘Nice to meet you Barbara, call me Penis’ True story” relates Nurse Barbara.

“I’ve know a few Richards, they all tended to be Penises. I had a Scouting leader called Carmichael Hunt, didn’t like his name being abbreviated. Don’t know of too many blokes being called Phyllis though. Mrs Angler had an aunt called Phyllis. They called her auntie Phil. I was always confused.” obfuscated Angler like most Foodge episodes.

“Yes!” continues Angler, “Out of Bordello Boy and Phallic Pride I understand”.

“Hmm, good bloodlines and great eating I believe” says O’Hoo

“Roy and HG had a fantastic stayer called Rooting King I wonder if there is anything in Phallic Prides past linking it. Apparently a good stayer” says Angler. “Now is there any truth in the story that someone has acquired a horse called Phallic Symbol.”

hom777d

The Dodgy Bros.

“Yes, bound to be in the next episode” says O’Hoo reading lines now off the back of his beer coaster, just like the gubbermint really. “Oh, the race is over, who won Merv?” O’Hoo questions.

“Farrk Nose” replies Merv. “But Aynuss was a late scratching.”

“By much?” asks O’Hoo.

Foodge 60.7 – Reflects

28 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

Big M, Easter, Foodge, granny

Granny3

Story by Big M

It was the eve of Easter Sunday, or Easter Saturday night, if you like. Foodge had tossed and tossed then turned for hours, so it seemed. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and wondered if tossing was such a good thing after all. He was usually (always) ignorant of world events, but even Foodge couldn’t escape the images of the Brussels Sprouts attacks, cramps, IBS etc,. He wondered if something similar could happen here, then remembered something about the Lindt Chocolate Café siege.

Foodge tried to shift his mind from violence and terror, but kept slipping back to that night he was told his parents had died. The Pleece Constable seemed like a nice bloke who had brought a lady constable to soften the blow, but it didn’t seem to help.

Life was never the same for Foodge, he became withdrawn, preferring to stay inside and read. Some teachers tried to get him labelled as ADD(Attention Deficient something, er, um, sorry lost my train of thought) or autistic, or worse MINUS(Mentality Insecure Neurotic User Syndrome) or acoustic,  whilst the more cluey ones realised that he was just a sad little kid with a big penis. It worked to his advantage, though, he read so much that he excelled at English and History, which enabled him to go to university, well to the car park anyhoo. PM material for shore.

Then there was the blossoming relationship between him and Granny. In spite of being HIV, MRSA, VRE and LGQBTI positive, it created a great deal of anxiety in Foodge, who had never had sex, sorry, never had a long-term girlfriend. ‘What were her expectations of him?’ He pondered.

Foodge remembered reading something about insomnia. Emmjay and Big M had Ford Zephyr4written that nothing really works. Viv reckoned it got worse as you got older, while Algernon swore by having a head job, nose only of course, just in case kiddies are watching, cured it. Perhaps he should follow O’Hoo’s advice. ‘Get stoned, pissed, and then laid.’ Well, he could probably do just one of them.

With that he wandered down to the Gentleman’s Bar, and poured a double South Sea Islands Imitation Scotch, and sat in one of the aging Chesterfields. Everything was quiet, but there was still some low-level background noise in the Pigs Arms. It gave Foodge a sense that the place was alive, but it was probably just the sound of refrigeration compressors.

[Editors note: It was really just Hedgie trying to tunnel out of AgH2O after meeting one to many Alfie’s, think about it before any correspondence is entered in to]

A veri private dick

A veri private dick

Foodge had managed to drift off, after a second Imitation Scotch. He awoke with a start (they don’t call him Foodge, Very Private Dick for no reason). There was the slightest movement just out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to see a pink figure with a basket full of eggs, which the figure was distributing around the pub. He let out a small gasp, as he had never managed to catch the Easter Bunny in the act. The ‘Easter Bunny’ turned around to reveal Granny, in her best pink chenille dressing gown,Granny4 and her hair up in a bun. ‘Can’t sleep dear?’ As she continued to hide Cadbury’s eggs around the place. ‘We’ll fix that.’ With that she hid her last egg, then led Foodge upstairs to her room.

Two out of three isn’t bad! Cluck, cluck.

Foodge 60.6 – Pension Day

23 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, Merv

9079.900.49557dc010Story by Big M

It was mid-morning, so Merv was manning the Gentleman’s Bar, whilst Foodge tidied up the Ladies Lounge and got the urn boiling for the Bowling Ladies’ morning tea. Granny had made some savouries, wedges and so forth, and Beryl had cooked a couple of cakes. The Ladies were ebullient over Mr Merv’s rehabilitation and release from hospital. The electric telephone rang. ‘ ‘Allo, Pigs Arms, Merv speakin’ ‘

‘This is Maria from enduss, are you Mr Merv?’

‘’oo?’

‘Mr Merv, are you Mr Merv?’

‘Yes, but ‘oo are you?’

‘Maria.’

‘Yep, I ‘eard that, ‘oo’s enduss?’

‘You know, the enduss, from the gummint.’

‘No, I never ‘eard of a enduss from the gummint.’ Mr Merv was pretty wary after the terror attacks in Western Cyberia.

O’Hoo suddenly burst into the bar brandishing some tools. ‘Can I plug me cordless drill in here, Merv’

‘Not now mate, I’m busy with Maria from enduss.’

‘Enduss? Then where can I stick it?’ O’Hoo was swinging the cord around like a toy.

‘You can stick it up yer Khyber Pass!’

‘Mr Merv, that’s no way to speak to a member of the gummint. Maria’s voice was sharp, even over the phone.

‘Sorry Mrs Enuss, but I’m struggling here.’

‘Well, I only rang to say that the local NDIS has considered your claim and we don’t music for pubs1consider you to be disabled.’

‘I’m not disabled, I’m running a pub.’ Merv grew red in the face.

‘No you’re not, you’re in a coma, which we don’t consider to be a disability.’

‘Why wouldn’t a coma be a disability?’ Roared Merv.

‘Well, because technically you are under the care of the local hospital, not the enduss.’

‘Oh, we’re back to the enduss!’ Merv fingers were white from holding the handset so tight.

‘Now that we have dealt with that, we have a Mr Foodge living at your premises.’

‘Foodge, phone!’ yelled Merv.

‘Good morning, Mr Foodge here.’ Foodge, ever the gentleman.

‘Mr Foodge, we are pleased to inform you that your application for a pension under the NDIS has been approved.’ Foodge could almost hear the smile down the phone.

‘I didn’t apply for any pension, besides, I’m not disabled.’ Foodge was befuddled.

‘No, but hospital records show that you have been admitted for alcoholic liver disease?’

‘Yes.’ Foodge was already nervous.

‘You were treated in a previous episode for taking oestrogen?’

‘Yes, but that was a mistake.’ The sweat was pouring down Foodge’s face.

‘Do you live on your own?’

‘No, with Mr Merv and Granny!’ Foodge loosened his Lewisham Men’s Bowling tie.

‘Do you have a job?’

No, not exactly, I run a business.’

‘That’s Foodge Private Enquiries, that hasn’t turned a penny in two years.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Do you have a spouse/partner/significant other?’

Simulated painting of Granny by Scott Harding

Simulated painting of Granny by Scott Harding

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I’m dating Granny!’ Foodge sounded triumphant.

‘So, a grown man with a sham business, who is cared for by others, and thinks he is dating his Granny, of course you deserve a pension!’ Maria was about to close the second case for the day.

‘But I don’t want a pension!’ Yelled Foodge.

‘That’s all right, dear, it’s already going into your account. We just wanted to double-check your details! Bye.’

60.5 Foodge Goes Soft

21 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, O'Hoo

Granny walksO'Way

Granny walks O’Way

Episode 60.5 Foodge softens with Age

Written by Big M

For reasons best known to the Sand Man, Foodge arose just as the sun was peeking over Inner Western Cyberia. He pulled the curtains back and his eyes were drawn to an unlikely pair, slowly jogging through the yard. One was short, slight, clearly female and very fit. The other was a big man, who ran slowly and deliberately, as though it was something he hadn’t done for a while. “Crikey, Granny and Merv are a remarkable pair, perhaps I should get back into the gym?” This, we all know is pretty unlikely, as Foodge is, well Foodge.

There was another figure in the yard, some fellow digging and fiddling about at the back of the chook shed. Foodge raced down the stairs and through the back door to find O’Hoo was the mystery man. “What are you up to Mr O’Hoo?” Foodge asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Ah, Mr Foodge, you’ve come to help rebuild the storm water drain from the hen house roof!” Exclaimed O’Hoo heartily, who was surrounded by white plastic pipes, angles, glue and tools.

“I thought you eschewed plastic in favour of the more traditional cast iron” commented Foodge, thinking himself rather clever for knowing about workman stuff.

“Yes, well, it makes sense to maintain the historic value of the pub and cast iron pipes are part of the history, but out here in the yard, the chooks will be glad of dry feet, or claws, regardless”. O’Hoo already had the down pipe assembled and was mounting it on brackets. “When I get this connected we should gather up some bum-nuts for brekky

“Bum what’s?” Foodge was more perplexed than usual.

“You know, bum nuts, cackle berries” O’Hoo was already starting to fill the trench that went out to the back lane.

“What, eggs?” Foodge was still bamboozled.

“Chook eggs, just go through that gate and look in their laying boxes…no, not that one, she’s too old to lay” like us all.

Foodge tentatively entered the chook shed, stooping down to check each laying

A chook, sitting on eggs

A chook, sitting on eggs

box. Within a couple of minutes he had a good armful of eggs and O’Hoo held open the gate to let him out. Unfortunately an ISA Brown dashed out between Foodge’s slow moving feet. O’Hoo cornered her in the yard and scooped her up, gently placing her back through the gate.

Foodge, observant as ever. “Why do we get eggs without a rooster?”

“You know what eggs are, don’t you Foodge?”

“Baby chickens?” ventured Foodge.

“Not necessarily” O’Hoo warmed to the subject. “I mean, women don’t need men around to menstruate and men don’t need women around to masturbate, do they?”

Foodge flushed with embarrassment. ‘We don’t need to go there, I mean…,er, um”

“Well, that’s what eggs are” as O’Hoo dumped his tool bag just inside the back door.

Back in the kitchen, O’Hoo already had eggs, bacon and mushrooms frying in a pan, whilst Foodge made some coffee. “So, you’re ready to put the hard word on Granny?” Grinned O’Hoo as bits of yolk cascaded from his mouth, down his unshaven chin.

“Hard word about what?”  Foodge was still struggling to get the milk to froth.

“You know!”  O’Hoo now had bits of egg and bacon down his shirt.

I know, do I? Foodge was concentrating hard on the angle of the milk jug and manipulating the steam pressure. “Ah, that’s it.” He slid the milky foam into each cup.

“You know, the horizontal samba, playing on the trouser flute?” O’Hoo was becoming exasperated.

“Well, yes, we could go dancing, but neither of us play the flute, I think.” Foodge was now wearing a milk mustache.

“Christ you’re obtuse Foodge, sex, you know S-E-X, sex!”

“Well, um…er”. Foodge chased an errant piece of egg around with his fork.

“Ah, you sly dog, you’ve already been there” said O’Hoo knowingly tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger.

“No, no, I haven’t had sex” stammered Foodge.

“What, you haven’t had sex with Granny?” gasps O’Hoo.

“No, I haven’t had sex, unless you count waking up in bed with you and Granny”, unaware of the preceding ten hours.

TO BE CONTINUED UNFORTUNATELY

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