Category Archives: Mark

Ambush – part 1

15 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by in Mark

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Root Note Pleads the Fifth

Root Note Pleads the Fifth

Story by Hung One On – Mystery Digital Mischievist

Hi, Hung here.

Don’t you just love it h,h,h, anyway me and young hph (another h, all I need is Helvi or Huffed Holive J) have been talking about music over at The Muse page here at the Arms, the page I originally set up for music as The Dot was starting to slow down. At the time me and Mikey thought it may be due to all the links we were all posting so I set up The Clip, The Muse, The Comma and The Link to take our posts into categories.

Hph was interested to know that I was musical so I thought you may want to know about what is was like to be in a “band”.

When I was a kid growing up in Austinmer, as you know from my Christmas story, I didn’t mention one of my real sisters. Her name is Clare. Clare’s boyfriend now husband was a drummer and he taught me how to play the drums. I then went to the guitar and then finally to the bass guitar. Now I was good but never great, although some said I was a fantastic blues guitarist and the last band I played in was called Ambush. We played pub rock seventies music. Heres out first bracket, not in any real order and I am struggling to remember them all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbG6M28UkFg

Tom Petty – Breakdown

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lFxGBB4UGU

Van Morrison – Moondance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2Fs5GrUBwI

Steely Dan – Do it Again

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRufMP1HCS8

Dire Straits – Down to the Waterline

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCLXy-vSu3o

ZZ Top – Tush

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fafCCsb6jzc

Roy Buchanan  – Further on up the Road

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3JsuWz4xWc

Jimi Hendrix- Hey Joe

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTwsbKYaoY0

Rolling Stones – Sympathy for the Devil

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3B0Y3LUqr1Q

Rolling Stones – Brown Sugar

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGBuQoDt4G8

Jimi Hendrix – Fire

Now let me tell you. Being in a band is crap. We got $85 each a gig. I would leave home at four in the afternoon and get home at two in the morning. This is sweatshop wages. Rehearse Friday nights and one big lesson I learnt. Never introduce a song to the band that you really like. The reason is by the time you have perfected it you will hate it. Play songs for the audience not yourself. In my song list there are several examples of this. More later.

Groupies – Not when you are big, fat, married.

Drugs – heaps and heaps but you couldn’t take any and any way apart from a few whiskeys to settle the nerves you couldn’t afford to take drugs, you have to stay alert, you need to know how to play around 50 songs, people would steal your equipment and you had to drive home.

So why did I do it? – Simple, you can sit at home and play Stairway to Heaven perfectly to the cat, dog and TV set however playing in a band made you play to a certain level. The song had to be right, as close as to the original that you could get. When I retired from the band scene I found it really difficult to play a song out on the back patio as I would need to get it right. From time to time I pick the guitar up but honestly I really can’t get into it any more.

Bumper Christmas Edition 2013 – The First Hung Over

25 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by in Mark

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Backyard cricket

Dad standing at back, front from left Have One On kneeling with one of the Vowels on his knee, Gerard Van Camper and Hung One On far right.

Story by Hung One On

Here’s a story. Some is true and some is pure bullshit, some artistic licence.  I’ll let you decide.

I was born in Tamworth, the country capital of NSW however as a young kid my parents moved down to Wollongong on the south coast or should I say more precisely, Austinmer, a northern beach suburb of Wollongong. Seven surfing spots within a 5 minute walk, how lucky was I.  For anyone that has travelled down the coast from Sydney to Wollongong we lived opposite the Headlands Hotel which strangely enough is on a headland.

We were considered strange as we were from the country, my dad was from overseas but worst of all we were Catholic, what ever that was.  Later in life I learned that Catholics have caused all of the world’s problems but as a kid I neither knew nor cared, as long as we could play cricket.

Strangely enough, in the small row of houses were we lived our neighbours to the north were the Bowlers, to the south were the Bettermen’s which we renamed the Batsmen so we called ourselves the All Rounders.  Sadly this is a true lie.

But hey, let me introduce you to my family. My Dad was called Dad, Dad One On which turned out to be very convenient.  My Mum was called Mum One On again which turned out to be very convenient.  My mum and dad had doctorates from the University of New England which is no where near England at all.  Mum majored in Crap whereas Dad majored in bullshit.  My big brother’s name was Have, Have One On and my big sister was called Urge, Urge One On, oh and lets not forget our blue heeler, Sandy, who never told me what his last name was but Mum said a priest had given her Sandy as a pup and his name was Sandy O’Way, so I guess mum named him after the priest.

Anyway we were considered strange as we were from the country, my dad was from overseas but worst of all we were Catholic.

Anyhoo, this was the mid 1960’s and I had had enough of my big brother giving me a hard time.  Throughout the entire year, through scrimping and scraping I had managed to save five bob, can you imagine that,  five whole bob, yes, gob smacking.  Anyway, a mate of mine called Gerard who came from Holland showed me a trick with tennis balls. Remember how they were always yellow, bounced to much and had the big circular line through them. “Pump the ball half full of water Hung” said Gerard “That way they skim along the ground” Gerard grinned. Gerard didn’t seem to mind that I was from the country, my dad was from overseas and I was a Catholic.

I think it mainly because Gerard was from another country, his dad was from overseas and he was a Catholic but I’m not really sure.

Gerard’s Mum and Dad had the best sausage in town. His mum would fry it and the smell was amazing. “Bedunk Mrs Van Camper” I would say, yum.  The adults washed it down with beer but we were too young to drink so we had soft drink.  Gerard had five brothers, Hank, Henk, Hink, Honk and Hunk. We all referred to them as the “Vowels” although I never knew why as their last name was Van Camper.  Mr Van Camper ran the local shop but it was tough going with all those mouths to feed until one day he got sick of being asked about holiday rents in Austinmer and opened up a business called Hank’s Camper Vans which was a play on his name.  He is now a millionaire.

So Gerard gave me the doctored ball, my precious, my time had come. Boxing Day 1966, Mum’s backyard, “Hey Have” I called rather exuberantly “I bet you five bob I can get you out under double figures”  I baited knowingly.  See my brother Have was a pugilist of the first degree. As when we moved to Austinmer, being strange as we were from the country, my dad was from overseas but worst of all we were Catholic, my big brother belted the crap out of the biggest villain in miles, suddenly he was a hero. “Listen, you little prick, I belt you for a hundred then I’ll belt the shit out of you”  replied Have, smirking to himself for the easiest five bob he would ever make.

Anyhoo, I put Sandy in as keeper  and Urge at mid on, mum’s flame tree as mid off.  The first few deliveries I let him tonk me around the place and while he wasn’t looking I threw the ball over the neighbours fence and replaced it with the doctored ball. I bowled the doctored ball and bowled him middle stump as it slid through along the ground.

Have started to come for me with a stump but Sandy realised what was happening and started to growl and bark at Have.  Sandy started to bite Have just as Mum appeared, “ What’s all this noise?” she shrieked “ Have, bugger off and leave Hung alone, who owns this five bob?”  Mum’s and questions hey.

Me and Sandy went down to the Halfway Shop with our winnings. I had a whole dollar. Can you imagine that, one whole dollar, ten shillings in the old. My newly found wealth was staggering, I was rich. Mrs Drew, who ran the Halfway Shop, was rapt when I told her the story, I had a pie and a can of soft drink and Sandy had some left over pork sausages that Mrs Drew got out of her fridge and I had 85 cents left over, 8 and a half shillings, can you imagine that. It doesn’t get any better that this.

Funny though, after that things changed.  My big brother started his apprenticeship at the steelworks as a fitter and turner. When I asked him what did a fitter and turner does, he replied “they fit and they turn”, wow, what a guy.  He never played cricket again, that was for little kids like me, he was a man now.

My sister Urge was very pretty and was a boy magnet however she went to uni and eventually married a rich bloke but she stopped playing cricket.  Cricket was a little kids game, not for a beautiful intelligent woman with her life ahead of her.

Sandy got killed by a truck and mum and dad were always too busy arguing about things like thermal currents in the upper atmosphere and their effect on climate so it boiled down to just me.

Luckily Gerard came around. “Hey Hung. Thirroul are looking for players. Wanna come? Train Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at Gibson Park.”  “Is the Pope a catholic?” I grinned, you know sometimes when things change it’s okay. Life just got a whole lot better.

Real Wallabies

02 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in Mark, The Sports Bar

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What we want …. Real Wallabies !

Story by Hung One On and Marsupial Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hey, Father O’Way here, you know, good old Sandy. I mean is the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, a wanker or what? I mean he wakes me up at three in the afternoon, what sort of wanker is that? So I have to interview the Wallabies, lets face it, some pre historic marsupials ain’t gonna have much to say.

“Sandy, get down to HQ and find out what’s going on with the Wallabies?” rants the Bish.

“Well I don’t know this Wal Abbies Bish?” I reply trying to buy some time. I would much rather just go back to sleep.

“The Rugby Union team you twit” says the Bish in a rather exasperated tone.

“Not another football team, I mean why do you never send me to interview those shelia’s that play in lingerie?” I request rather forlornly.

“Just get down there and find out what’s wrong. Oh and by the way, don’t tell anyone to fuck off!” roars the Bish.

Can’t tell anyone to fuck off. You know sometimes I wonder why I bother.

I enter rugby HQ and no one really is standing guard. No one lets me straight in as he is Hung’s cousin and he recognises me as the globe trotting priest that drinks at The Pigsarms. The sign over the door is interesting. It says, “Remember the two qualities needed for Rugby Union are brute strength and bloody ignorance”. I mean what does that tell you.

I go to the Head Coaches office, Bobbie Bean, and ask for an interview.

“Fuck off” yells Bobbie.

Hmm, how come it’s okay for him but not for me. Is this a classic case of discrimination or what.

“So is it okay to call you Bobbie” I ask.

“Well all my friends call me Bobbie but you can call me Mr. Bean”

Hey, that’s the problem, Mr Bean is in charge of the team.

“Hey Bobbie, everyone is saying your lot are a bunch of pansies, that you were all dizzy at half time and the trainer had to point to the try line?” I barb. No f off’s for me, grumble, grumble.

“Grrr” says Bobbie, if grrr is really a word.

I can see I got off on the wrong foot here so I decide to dazzle Bobbie with my rugby knowledge.

“So Bobbie, did Mark Ella have a good game?” I dazzle.

“Arragh” replies Bobbie.

“Isn’t the object of the game to get the ball over the try line?” I amaze.

“Well, that’s the first I’ve ever heard of that, how about you come on board as an assistant?” quips Bobbie.

Hmm, yes, the ignorance is showing.

“How are you going to go against the Springsooks, you know, the South Ifrician team?” I probe.

“Once we get all our stars back like Virgo, Aquarius and Capricorn we will kill em unless they play Tony Grieg and Kevin Petersen” states Bobbie rather assertively.

Well they are cricketers but never let the truth get in the road of a good story.

“So Bobbie, what do you need to win, how about some ring ins?” I state with not a lot of confidence.

Bobbie leaps over the desk and grabs me by the throat knocking me to the ground. Gee, I hope my packet of Winnies are okay, can’t afford anymore.

“No Father, what we need is some real wallabies, real wallabies” Bobbie cries.

So there you are folks. The problem is Mr Bean is in charge of the team, they don’t understand the objective of the game and they can’t find the try line.  Next.

The Next Episode

14 Saturday Jul 2012

Posted by in Mark, Neville Cole

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The Usual Suspects

Story by the New Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi, Sandy here. You know me, the local parish priest from Inner Cyberia at the church of St Generic Brand. Well yes, I’m on another assignment thanks to the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop. Here’s what happened.

“Sandy, it’s the Bish” says the voice on the phone.

“Hey Bish, I mean, I wasn’t even asleep or having an erotic dream and you rang me just like a normal person would do.” I inform never knowing what mood the Bish will actually be in.

“Like my erections Sandy, I’m getting soft with age” Oh, yuck, too much information.

“How interesting Bish. I’m sure someone out there must care” I reply rather nonchalantly.

“Now look Sandy” states the Bish, “There is something wrong in the good old USA and I want you to check with our North American correspondent, Neville Coal, about what in the hell, pardon Gordon, is going on, comprehende?” affirms the Bish.

“What’s going on about what?” I ask both stupidly and dumbly.

“Zarking Austro-Americans Sandy, get the picture, something has happened to Austro-Americans, get to Neville and find out otherwise you’re fired” barks the Bish.

So I hop a plane to LA and get a cab to the Lizard Bar and Grill, one of Neville’s favourite hideouts. So here is the interview in my usual format.

FOW: So Neville, the Bish tells me something has gone wrong with Austro- American relations. I mean have you guys run out of ghetto blasters or what?

NC: (with panic in his eye) We really shouldn’t be talking here out in the open like this. Quick! Follow me! I know a place where we won’t be recognized. (They run next door to Queen Lateesha Bar and Salon.)

FOW: Look, one thing that has always intrigued me is why all the fuzzy hair?

NC: Oh man! You jump right to the tough questions, don’t you? Wow! I have no idea. Hey Queen! This guy wants to know why all the fuzzy hair?

QL: What you talkin’ bout? Fuzzy hair? I don do no fuzzy hair. The only do I do is strong, black, firm African hair. Fuzzy? You crazy. That’s what you is!

FOW: So is it true that Michael Jackson wanted to be white and had his cock shortened?

NC: Are you asking me or the Queen?

FOW: You.

NC:Hmmm… Well this does happen to be a topic I am well versed in. I have a PPLBJ in Afro-American-Australian studies from the University of the Internet.

FOW: A PPLBJ?

NC: Yes. It’s an online degree. 4 days of intensive study – Google searches, Wikipedia, Facebook…the works.

FOW: Sounds challenging.

NC: Brutal. But it only cost me $49.99 plus tax, which I think is a bargain.

FOW: So the Michael Jackson question…

NC: He was the fifth Jackson, right? Sang that song Do Re Me, 1 2 3?

FOW: Let’s move on…

NC: Good idea. Your braids look great by the way. Queen, what does he owe you?

QL: That be only twenty dollar. You practically got no hair at all, Father Sandy…and it’s all weak and limp like…you sure you not using too much shampoo?

FOW: Can we get out of here?

NC: Let’s go to Devito’s, the dirty diner next door. The chicken and waffle pie there is to die for… (They run next door)

FOW:  So Neville, is it true that Danny Devito is really black?

NC: That’s the rumor, yes.  I heard he was blacklisted in the 60s.

FOW: I heard the other day that OJ Simpson regrets being a glass of orange juice. Is this true?

NC: I don’t think so… He called me up recently to sing a heartfelt rendition of “My Way” Regarding regrets, he said he had a few but did not mention anything about orange juice.

FOW: Is Mel Gibson a new wave intellectual or simply a tool?

NC: Oh God! Get down! (They duck under the table – NC whispers) Mel just walked in the door… I’m not sure if he heard you call him a tool but he looked ready for one of his infamous outbursts…and that’s not all…

FOW: (waiting) well…

NC: What?

FOW: You said…and that’s not all… What else is going on?

NC: Mel is with… friends. The whole ratbag pack!

FOW: Who is that?

NC: Father! Have you ever read a gossip column in your life? Every People reader knows who the ratbag pack is… Mel Gibson, Nick Noltie, Randy Plaid, Crispy Glover, Jokein Phoenix, Garee Busee…and, oh Jesus and saints, they’ve added a new ratbag!

FOW: Who?

NC: Actpoorly Sulkin. He’s one crazy-ass muther…excuse the French, father. Wait! I have an idea. Let’s sit up slowly then loudly ask me a question about tools and/or tool use. We have to pretend we are two hardworking handymen. That bunch of ratbags will admire two men talking about hardware. (they sit up slowly) Go ahead. Say something…but act natural f’christsake or we will both leave here with one less testicle…or worse, they’ll want to join us for lunch. Say something, quickly. Mel is giving us the hairy eyeball.

FOW: (loudly) Speaking of tools, can you hand a man a better spanner than a K-Mart special?

Mel Gibson: (butting in drunkenly) Good question, mate! I say you can’t go past a tool from Bunning’s…and I will kick the arse of any bastard who says otherwise! (He pants loudly like a charging bull).

Nick Noltie: Bugger off, Mel! I’m an Ace Hardware man! Ace is the place!

Garee Busee: You guys are busting the one nut I have left! You know Jack Squat Shit about tools. Let’s get even drunker and fight!

Actpoorly Sulkin: (lying on floor) I’m already too drunk to stand but I’ll fight you all night. I just wish I had a five gallon can of paint on a string with me.

Crispy Glover: Here. You can borrow mine.

Actpoorly Sulkin: Thanks Crispy! I don’t care what they say, you are a real pal. (They all start to fight each other.)

NC: Oh Christ, father… You’ve really set them off now. Quick let’s go to the Quik-E Mart. I need some cheese wiz.

FOW: (puffing loudly as they run to Quik-E Mart) Is Olivia Newton-John the best Austro-American singer of all time or should that honour go to Ella Fitzgerald?

NC: Hmm…for my money you can’t go past Dame Dolly Melba-Parton. What a pair of lungs that woman had.

FOW: (in the Quik-E Mart searching for Cheese Wiz) In the movie the Blues Brothers, the white folk wanted cheese wiz, fried chicken and dry white toast. Do you think they were really vegans?

NC: Don’t quote me on this…but I believe that fried chicken in this country now has so little identifiable meat in it that it is considered a vegan meal.

FOW: I rest my case.

Father O’Way and Sonja visit “The Hospital for Erectile Dysfunction”

03 Tuesday Jul 2012

Posted by in Mark, Warrigal Mirriyuula

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Another O’Way confusion…….I said “Olympics…. not limp dicks …..

Editor’s note:  Apparently the good father and Sonja, in the grip of confusion, went along to The Museum Of Erectile Dysfunction.  It’s a “private” museum if you get my drift.

Well blow me down if, after passing through the Gallery of Male Heart Throbs and seeing Zac Efron and Daniel Craig clutching at their privates, Sonja didn’t have half her kit off before she noticed the cameras there for the opening of the “Erect” exhibition in the Gallery of Phallic Symbolism.

Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

The buxom voluptuous blonde sits on the side of my bed. She reaches around to undo her bra strap. Ring, ring, ring, ring. What the zark. It’s the phone ringing, just when I was getting to the good bit.

“Sandy, it’s the Bish here” says the voice.

“Gordon zarking O’Donnell Bish its only one thirty in the afternoon, I was having a sleep in” I reply rather pissed off.

“Look Sandy, you would sleep your life away if it wasn’t for me and the church of St Generic Brand” replies the Bish. Hmm, true, but what a great idea.

“Sandy, get down to the airport and hop a plane to London. I want you to see what is going on at the old limp dicks” barks the Bish.

“But Bish I know nothing about erectile dysfunction” I state not wanting to give away any trade secrets.

“The old limp dicks” says the Bish who as we know has a bit of a speech impediment when he has been smoking that stinking stuff from his pipe. “The sporting event you idiot, you know the one that comes around every four years and is full of drugs, money, women, parties, corruption and nationalism”. Hmm, sound like my kinda guys.

After many bribes and much negotiation I gain an interview with one of the most respected Australian TV journalists, with a great background in sport and really high credentials and credibility Sonia “Oh what a feeling” Kluger.  I now interview her in my usual format.

FOW: Why thanks Sonia good to see you here at another Olympics, I mean your last performance was simply beyond words.

SK: Thanks Sandy it’s a pleasure.

FOW: So Sonia, what’s your take on the current games?

SK: Well Sandy this is the first truly modern games where some of the events have been altered to match modern society.

FOW: Can you give me some examples?

SK: Yes Sandy. The marathon is no longer the marathon. It’s now called the Hit, run and run. Chris Jongewaard is our representative in this category as he has the form to perhaps win gold.

FOW: Any more?

SK: Yes Nick DÁrcy should win gold for Smashing Someone Jaw why they Aren’t Looking. We are entering Jarrod Bannister in the Drink Driving event  and Grant Hackett in the Get Pissed and Smash Your House Up event. All should win gold given their form.

FOW: So Sonia, do you have a sports background?

SK: Well Sandy my selection to commentate at Beijing was widely criticised however I have played some sport most of my life. When I was a young teenager my boyfriend and I would play Handball, however he always beat me and came first. As I got older my boyfriend and I moved on to a game called Givenhead. We would go parking and I would lower down to his groin  and he would  go, Hmm ,hmm, oh, yes, yes, oh, Oh my God, yes, baby, yes, oh my God etc., etc., but yes he would always come first. So I gave up sport after that and went to television where you know its just all pure bullshit, just like this interview.

I rest my case.

Father O’Way on the State of Oregon

21 Thursday Jun 2012

Posted by in Mark, Warrigal Mirriyuula

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Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hey. Hi. How are you? Sandy here, you know Sandy O’Way your local parish priest. Look I’ll cut to the chase. I need to get my word count up otherwise the Bish will kill me so I will be chucking in a few more words in this article, you know, like, words, words and more words. Wow, 50 words already, who said I’m an idiot.

Anyhoo, look, by the way that’s my second look, the Bish wants me to report on the State of Oregon that is about to be played between two teams, how interesting [groan].  But look, hey my third look, why does the Bish want to know about a state in America but look, okay, let’s take a look.

The State of Oregon is the 33rd state of the USA with a population of almost 4 million.

[ Okay. Stop right there Sandy. Hung here, look, I told you State of Origin, you know, football and the big decider coming up on the 4th July. You know mate I would call you and idiot but that would be an insult to idiots, now get on with it.]

Bloody hell. Did Hung get out of the wrong side of the bed or what but look I was enjoying the story so far. Now I have to write about football, ewww, yuck.

So look, hmm another look, I slip some security guards some suspicious white powder that they think is drugs but is really talcum powder to get an interview with the coaches. Boy, I can’t wait to see the faces of those stupid guards when they start sticking talc up their noses.

The two coaches are Ricky Poofart for the New South Wales Blues and Mal Meningitis for the Queensland Morons. I start with Ricky.

“So Ricky” I ask on the front foot just to let this guy know that I am a footy expert “Who’s going to win the upcoming game of Collingwood versus Manly?” That will stump him.

“Well I’m sorry Father but those teams play in different competitions” Ricky informs.

“Oh, so there is more than one competition?” I ask not knowingly.

“Well yes Father. Collingwood play Aussie Rules but Manly play the real game, Thugby League.” Ricky informs.

Darn. I was hoping for some inside information so I could make a killing down at FabSportsBet. I’ll throw another curly one at him. “What about the clash of the Saints, you know, Saint George verus Saint Kilda?”

“No Father. They are separate games with separate rules. They play on a big oval and we have referees and they have umpires” informs Ricky.

“Yes, yes, of course” I twaddle looking for another gag. “Yes, Ricky, I hear you are ecstatic about the umpires, oops, I mean referees?  I probe.

“It’s always their fault that we lose” Ricky spurts, on his feet now and frothing at the mouth. He grabs me around the throat “The referees are always wrong and we are always right that’s what makes them so wrong and us so right and if we lose it’s rigged” spews Ricky.

“Look Ricky, chill man. So you are called the Blues. I love the blues, you know George Thorogood, Stevie Ray Vaughan that sort of thing” I enquire meekly, fearing for my life.

“The Blues is the colour of our jumper Father, er, um, sorry about the strangle hold.”

Hmm. I dust myself off and head to the next interview with Mal Meningitis, the coach of the Queensland Morons.

“So Mal, I mean Big Mal” hmm, big, M, couldn’t be. I ask the obvious “ So big Mal, you don’t live in Newcastle do you?”

“No Father. I am a true Queenslander. I live in Canberra” Mal replies.

“So Mal, are you are you going to beat those southern hicks, the Blues?” I ask.

“Don’t you worry about that” Mal replies “Look I have just finished making some pumpkin scones, replaced the faded curtains and fed the chooks, so don’t you worry about that Father”

Gordon zarking O’Donnell, what have we here. “Well Mal, have you ever thought about a career in politics?” I state rather dryly.

“Well Father, yes, no, maybe.” Mal states. Hey, maybe we do have something in common after all.

“Look Mal, I’m a fictitious character on a piece of paper that appears on a website called the Pigarms. What state of origin would I fit into?” I ask rather forlornly, you know,  that feeling of not belonging.

“Well Father, by reading some of your stories I think you would fit into the Mental Health state” states Mal.

Yes, finally, I can cheer for my team, the state of Mental Health but I wonder which competition do they play in?

“So Mal, how do you feel about the referees?” I ask trying to hide my complete boredom.

“Look Father” says Mal “You pay them enough money and you get the result you want. In fact the State Premier, Camp Bellnewman, supports gay marriage.”

“I’m sorry Mal but I don’t get what you mean” I state innocently.

“Well look” says Mal “come over sweetie here and I’ll give you a kiss and we can talk about the first thing that pops up.”

Look, someone get me outta here.

[PS: I would like to thank the word look that appeared over 19 times and did nothing for the story at all except improve my word count.]

Father O’Way Saves Julian

08 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Mark

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Excellent

Story by Hung One On,  Cartoonery Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy here. You now Father O’Way from the parish of St Generic Brand. I have just got Shappy out of jail and rescued Greece from the Eurozone  and now the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, wants me to do the same for Julian Arse Sarge, from Wikileaks, whatever the zark that is.

“Get Julian out of trouble or you are fired” arcs up the Bish.

“But hey Bish, leeks are something you put in soup?” I ask  knowing I will get hammered.

“No you ninny, leaks as is letting things slip” retorts the Bish rather viscously.

“So he is incontinent?” I reply is my most nonchalant parish priest voice.

“Look, I don’t care what continent he is on Sandy, just find him and save him or else” barks the Bish.

Oh for zark sake. Is the Bish a full time wanker, I think so.

Anyway, I do a bit of homework and I find out that Julian is living on the Bold Coast, which is in Australia some where. Julian is pretending to be a conservative business man running a business and whingeing at every opportunity to bag the government. I have been told that he has an alias called Feat Slipper.

I travel to this Bold Coast to try and find this Julian character. I enter the bordello called “The Slip Inn” and am ushered into a room to meet the owner. A man is sitting at computer and is listening to some old Yes albums. Drugged out hippy no doubt.

“So Julian, the CIA are after you along with the FBI, MI5, AISO and the AFP, but which is the best Yes album?” I cut to the chase.

“Fragile Sandy” Julian replies “but could you have potato soup without leeks?” asks Julian.

“No. Not on mate, but I was told it was leaks as in you are incontinent?” I ask rather innocently.

“Piss off, gerrit!!!!”  Julian asserts.

“No, not really. But Julian you are leaking all over the place, surely you have some sort of plan?” I ask.

“Zarking oaf Sandy. My aim is to take over the Pigsarms. Total world domination follows. Control the Pigsarms and you control the world.”

Sad, but true.

Greece is the Word

31 Thursday May 2012

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Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here, you know the, yes I guess you know by now. I’m in a cab on my way to the Nazi Goering Airport on Barley when the phone rings. Guess who, the Bish.

“Sandy, hop a plane to Greece. They are in great trouble and need your help to prevent them dropping out of the Eurozone” bleats the Bish.

“Hmm, Eroticzones, sounds good to me Bish” I answer eagerly.

“No you dimwit. The Eurozone is a common European currency used by all European countries, you know like Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland you must rescue them or you’re fired” demands the Bish.

Hmm, there goes my comfy retirement but Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland spells PIGSARMS. It’s a sign from Gordon, I’m on a mission from GOD! This must be connected to the Pigs Arms, the home of  pink drinks and Trotters Ale, well I’ll do it for them, they are worth saving.

On the plane I am seated next to a strangely attractive female dressed in black leather and teased hair however there is something not quite right here, like since when do women have an Adams apple and a five o’clock shadow, hmm.

“Hi cutey. I’m Olivia Neutron Bomb” er, um, she states and extends here rather hairy hand.

We shake hands and she nearly crushes it, crikey more grip than a hooker up the Cross. “Er, um Sandy O’Way, nice to meet you, now can you give me my hand back” I blurt in pain and agony.

“ I’ve just finished my last year at Rydell’s High School and had to leave behind my boyfriend, John Travolting, but look sweetie I’m always open to any mile high suggestions” she gushes batting her eyelashes faster then a hummingbird on heat. “You see Father, I got chills. They’re multiplyin’. And I’m losin’ control. Cause the power you’re supplyin’, it’s electrifyin’! You’re the one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, oo, honey, The one that I want. (you are the one I want), o,o,oo, honey. The one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, ooooo, The one I need.
Oh, yes indeed”

“Er, um, well, look Miss, I’m a parish priest and I’m on a mission from GOD.” I search unwittingly for an answer to dispel, well, um, this young lady.

“So you’re in the missionary position Father? See Greece is the word, Greece is the word, is the word that you heard, It’s got groove it’s got meaning, Greece is the time, is the place is the motion, Greece is the way we are feeling” she says.

“No I’m off to save Greece from dropping out of the Eurozone.” I state rather firmly.

“Well look up my old friend, Evangeos Venizelopoulos, he is a handsome Geek man that likes things Greek style in every way, if you know what I mean”  he, er, um, she smirks.

Well no, I don’t know what you mean but someone get me out of here.

I head to Evangoes’ office but I mean fancy being in Greece, the centre of the world, handsome men, pretty women and the best food I have ever eaten. Yeah, Greece is the word.

“So Evangoes” I start “ the country is up shit creek. What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I will win the next election and trash everything from the IMF and anyone else” he says rather firmly.

“The IMF?” I ask rather dimwittingly.

“Yes, the Internationally Myopic Financers” he replies.

“Hmm, what about asking people to pay tax? I mean Christine “Frenchy” LaGrange, head of the IMF,  said so herself only the other day” I moot carefully.

“Sir, you insult me and my nation. We pay no tax. Tax is a pox. When I attend the school dance with the T-Birds and the Pink Ladies there is no talk of tax. We will win the dance off and fund the country that way. Anyway, Frenchy has insulted my car, a Datsun 120Y, and I have challenged her to a race to the death” he asserts loudly and demonstratively.

“So Evangoes, what is life for you after politics?” I ask.“Well” says Evangoes “Frenchy has promised me a head job in the car park so I expect to be Le Comminsioner de stationnement [The Commissioner of Parking] I guess.”

I rest my car.

The Return of Father O’Way – in Barley

28 Monday May 2012

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Nazi Goering

Story by the Great Hung One On – Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here. You know the good father from the St Generic Brand parish, around the corner and down the street from the Pigs Arms. Well the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, wants me to get Shappy Corebee out of jail. Apparently Shappy got caught smuggling thugs into Barley as the local thugs aren’t strong enough and that’s why they need Australian thugs and let face we have plenty of thugs in Australia.

[Stop.  Cut. Cease.  Hung here. Look Sandy you idiot it’s drugs not thugs, now get on with it and stop being silly]

Oh, sorry! Okay so she’s a drug smuggler and is in jail in Barley which is an island in Donesia. Donesia is rated the most corrupt country in the world just above Australia. The Barlenese don’t want to be part of Donesia but when asked to join they didn’t have enough guns, tanks and jetfighters so they agreed. Anyway what can you bribe corruption with?  I ask myself as I land at the airport in the capital of Barley, Nazi Goering.

I check into my hotel, The Nazi Goering Combination Hotel, and head for two private investigators, Beef and Chicken Satay. The Bish told me that these two old skewers are really peanuts but know the island. I send them out to get the low-down on how I can get Shappy out of the can.

The next day Beef rings me at my hotel “Look Sandy, we found high level criminal activity, hookers, inappropriate reporting procedures and set up merchants” Beef spluttered.

“Look Beef, I didn’t ask for a report on the Health Services Union, anyway you sound a bit overdone, I’ll take it from here”.

What in the name of Gordon am I going to do? The Bish said get her out or you’re fired so I better come up with something. I know I’ll ring the jail and make an appointment with the Governor, Berguling Gado Gado.

“Mr Gado Gado’s office” the voice replied.

“Er,um, hi, can I make an appointment to see the governor?” I ask rather nervously.

“Certainly Sir, 10:45 tomorrow morning. And your name Sir?” the voice asks.

My name, zark, what’s my name, crikey it’s been such a long time I’ve forgotten, oh hang on it’s at the top of the page, you know how you characteristically introduce yourself, see Sandy O’Way. Don’t you just love having conversations with yourself, yes I see it now, I say Hi. Sandy O’Way here so that must be me. “Sandy” I reply confidently “Sandy O’Way”.

“Thank you Sandy Sandy O’Way we will see you tomorrow” the voice affirms.

“No my name is just Sandy O’Way” I state rather awkwardly.

“Okay then Just Sandy O’Way see you tomorrow”.

I give up otherwise I will chew up my word limit and you won’t find out what happens in the end. I mean lets face it that’s why you read anything, to find out what happens in the end. So me I just read the end first and that saves me a lot of time. Like Frodo drops the One Ring into the Crack of Doom, now that saved me a heap of reading.

“Well Governor how can I convince you to let Shappy out of jail?” I ask. May as well get on the front foot.

“Yeah sure. I have 27th July 1965, 8th Feburury 1982 or August 1st 2003. Which date would you like?” the Governor exclaims.

“But Governor all those dates are past” I state rather bewildered by it all.

“Well in that case we better let her out then”

And so that is how it happened, honest, well sort of.

Hung’s Christmas Prawns

25 Sunday Dec 2011

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Black Tiger Prawn

Hung’s Christmas Prawns

Look, I putting myself out on a limb here but I thought I would share an old family recipe for prawns.

Ingredients

20 cooked Black Tiger Prawns

2 Limes

Cracked sea salt

Method

Shell and de – vein the prawns

Sprinkle lightly with sea salt

Smoother with lime juice

Phew, after all that work I need a glass of French Champagne supplied by the mighty Julian London however beer is also a suitable substitute.

Eat, enjoy.

PS: I stayed up all night working on this recipe.