Category Archives: Mark

11. Sandy Returns – From where, not sure?

23 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 42 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hung’s Parliament

19 Thursday Aug 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 38 Comments

Tags

, , ,

It’s a Hung House

Dear Julia and Tony,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10. Ur, um, the end bit

19 Monday Jul 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

The Joyous couple

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kerobokan Gets Father O’Way

15 Thursday Jul 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

,

Sandy Beach

Well, Father O’Way here, I mean look firstly she told me she was sixteen, sorry not my child, I was outta town that night anyway, I was just trying to show her the Heimlich Manoeuvre honest, boy so many questions.   So the Bish banishes me to Indonesia, over a little fling with the housekeeper and bit of dope left in my boogie board bag, I mean it was only a few kilos.  Filling in for 2 weeks at Kerobokan Prison as resident Chaplain with my little Shappy, I mean, this was going to be hell, pardon the pun.

Shappy said most people sleep on the floor of their cell. Hers sleeps 6 and is a tight fit.  I asked why they didn’t use bunk beds.  “It’s very tight in there.” said Shappy, pointing to her sarong, hmmm I thought, I love a tight fit.  Shappy said she couldn’t give me any info on what was going on.  I said, “But people are interested in your mental state and your cleavage oops I mean conditions?”  She said she was holding up okay and when I told her that the guards and the media were saying she wasn’t accepting visitors, she said don’t believe everything you read in the press, especially anything on the bulletin board at the Pig’s Arms.  Shappy said there’s no tennis court at Kerobokan as reported in the newspaper, I mean fecking hell, no tennis court!

I asked her about the lack of daylight, she said she has gotten used to the fluorescent light being on the whole time, “Christ, oops sorry Father, not even a fecking energy saver”.  The press likes to exaggerate everything and one source said she had not seen the light of day for 6 months.  When I saw her she looked tanned, more tanned than me.  She has an ample breast line, curvy waist, long legs and a million dollar smile.  “Father, Father”, she yelped, “No hands please, but lower Father, much much lower”.

We bribe the guard with a Pig’s Arms t-shirt to let us go downtown, I mean, who wouldn’t want a Pigs Arm’s t-shirt.  We walk to the Hotel Intan Bali and stop for a bevy at the Kakatua Lobby Bar.  Shappy says the beers are crap here.  I tell her I have a six pack of Trotters, she looks at me “Father, I’d do anything for a Trotters, I mean anything”.  So we go down the beach and we have a photo taken of us in the sand as we knock back a few ales.  I ask Shappy if there was one message to give people back home, something that would show that she was innocent.  After a long pause she replied “Yes Father, can someone mind my hydro!”

from the Pig’s Arms’ correspondent in Bali, well, Hung

About Middle and Off – Hung’s Wide World of Sport

02 Friday Jul 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

, , ,

At 5 for 348 over to the commentary box….Hung?

“Lillie approaches from the Vulture Street End, Boycott pads up, its bowled him, Boycott’s off stump knocked out of the ground, no shot offered……”, the lounge room roars into action, grown men cry, dogs bark, people flood the street tossing hats in the air rejoicing, backs are slapped, beers are poured, this is summer this is cricket, this is heaven, their best batsman bowled without offering a shot, life doesn’t get any better than this, ah yes, cricket where the only thing better than cricket is more cricket.

Yes cricket, the one true national game.  Forget your football codes cricket is life and life is cricket.  Understanding cricket is easy. Get more runs then they do, simple.  Nothin’ too hard bout that. And yes the culture, the joy, the atmosphere, its quasi-religious and coming from an atheist that’s saying something.

As a kid growing up in Wollongong all my mates played cricket and for me batting, bowling or fielding I couldn’t care less, just playing the game was all I needed.  Weekends were cricket in the juniors Saturday morning, Grade in the afternoon.  Sunday morning surf then when the nor’easter came in cricket in the park with me mates.  Mum had to come and get me for tea as the sun had set ages ago. She’d call out from the street “Hung, get home, it’s as black as, tea’s on the table, how can you see that ball anyhow?”, “But Mum, a century beckons”, I always wondered why mum called me Hung when my name’s Xavier, anyway some things are a mystery.

My Dad, an Englishman tolerating us colonials, would get the bus to the bottom of Bulli Pass and hold up a sign “SCG”, someone would always pull over and give him a lift. I was too young to go along at first but then my initiation came, the SCG, the hallowed turf, the smell of the freshly cut grass, the crowd, the banter between the Poms and the Aussies, always witty, never violent or abusive and supporters of both sides could sit together and barrack for their team.  Mum would pack ham and mustard sandwiches and Dad would shout an ice cream, bliss.

Then as a young man going to the test with my mates, eskies full of beer, pies and hotdogs, hot chips and seagulls.  Doug Walters would stride out and the crowd would erupt, “Douggie, Douggie” we’d chant.  If he got a boundary the noise was deafening, all of us would rise as one, “You bewdy”.  Then tragedy, Douggie caught in the covers, “Poms can’t field, how’d they catch that “.

Then as I aged a bit more and the Hill disappeared and my brother-in-law, Brad, and I would sit in the stands. One birthday, which falls in January, somewhere between the 4th and the 6th, hint hint, we went to the SCG and watched India play, Azzarudin, mate, me and Brad wanted to make him an honorary Aussie, he was brilliant.  But it was against the Poms that was best, the old dart, the mother country, those were the days.

Tutu and I moved to Adelaide in the eighties and loved it. 15 minutes to the oval, no rain, 5 days of heaven.  Saw the mighty West Indies, Adam Gilchrist, V.V.S Laxman,  Wasim Akram and the graceful Brian Lara.  In the first few years here, Tutu would bring books to the game  to read but it gets hot in summer, 40 plus, so now she drops me at the Oval and goes on a spending spree on my credit card, I mean am I a winner or what ?

Andrew Strauss not getting it either

So for those that don’t understand cricket, don’t worry.  Just pretend you like it or compromise like Tutu and read a book, enjoy the fresh air, the sun, the community, being as one with total strangers, applauding your opponent for good play, all of these things are cricket and oh yes check the scoreboard occasionally.
Now available at: http://hungoneon.wordpress.com/2010/06/12/about-middle-and-off-hungs-wide-world-of-sport/

Is Vic Bitter over Trotters Ale

12 Saturday Jun 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, ,

Busy sampling Trotter’s Ale all day …. but then someone’s gotta do it..

Thumbing through Vic Bitter’s “Essential Guide to Beer Drinking, Australia – Vol 375” this article appeared in the chapter called “Boutique Brews” and reviews Trotters Ale – the beer that’s queer.

The Pigs Arms offers a unique experience with beer drinking. Brewed on the premises by the owner/publican “Merv”, Trotters Ale is a life changing experience.

I meet Merv who is a tall thin man with a pot belly wearing pink shorts and a t-shirt with “I didn’t see YOU in Vietnam 73” emblazoned on the front. Merv had black boots on with the words “Manne 1” on the right and “Manne 2” on the left written in white-out across the toes, how strange? Merv tells me Manne likes to have a kick around sometimes. On his arm he has a tattoo, a heart with the words “I love Blenda” curved around one side, when pressed Merv tells me he was dating Belinda but half way through getting the tattoo Belinda broke it off, so he started dating Glenda, “Had to have something there” he says. Some patrons are sitting in the courtyard around a wood oven, Merv informs me that they’re the “unleashed” and assures me they will speak about Trotters Ale.

A sign hangs over the bar that reads “If you order Trotters Ale leave your health insurance details with the barmaid”. I’m both puzzled and nervous. Belinda, the barmaid, pulls two glasses. She’s wearing a soggy sombrero and looks nervously at the window. The beer itself has a red glow and is served cold in a curvilinear glass. It has a small but notable vapour. My heart is racing. The glass is saying “drink me, drink me”. The ale has a unique aroma that is a cross between dead fish and the durian fruit. I take a deep sip. My mouth wants to cave in. In my head I hear a piercing scream of some wild creature in pain.

The mouthfeel is somewhat chewy and I was unsure as to whether I would live or die. I smile feebly however Merv is looking at me, grinning, “Bootiful idn’t it”. I try to drink more to impress Merv, I mean I’ve sampled thousands of beers this one wasn’t going to beat me. I feel as though some form of exchange is happening between me and the beer and Merv orders some wedges. Flashes of colour seem to be bouncing off the walls and the floor starts to shift. The wedges arrive and I eat some. “Their granny’s hot chilli” I’m told.  My chest is pounding now and waves of nausea are crashing over me. I’m swallowing the beer like nothing on earth. More wedges, yes more wedges.  The nausea starts to recede and my heart rate slows, the room returns to focus and I’m finished my drink. I’m starting to feel better but I’m incapable of speech. My lips move and the words “My round” stroll out of my mouth and across the bar and into Belinda’s ear. Two more beers are poured and we consume more wedges.

I’m feeling really good now, yeah, this is good beer. A peculiar smile appears on Merv’s face and he shows me into the courtyard where the “unleashed” are eating mushroom pizza’s and wedges. “This is Vic” Merv says “He wants to talk about Trotters”. I ask the group about what they think of Trotters Ale. A man called Emmjay says “Look old chap, the by-product of maltose, sacchyomyces and H2O is always welcome in my digestive tract”, hmmm, a scientist. The man next to him called Hung, thrusts out his glass and pleads “More?” Another, Warrigal, tells me “The’ beers are goo man, weawy goo”. The comments are coming now, the unleashed are off the hook. “Beware the DNA of Medea”, says atomou as his voice evaporates and his eyes narrow, “It’s okay but its not shiraz, anyone seen my chasseur? From Doncherry you know, cost a fortune” declares Gez, “You don’t think a stunning looking woman like me would drink beer do you?” replies Helvi, “I’m too busy cleaning up shit from child care” utters Glenda, “I think it illustrates that Lenin had a point in delivering the Goelro plan as part of the communist manifesto” states Voice. A voluptuous looking woman enters and sits next to Hung, it’s Tutu “Pink drinks for me, although since Merv has started putting tomato juice in the brew it’s good on a hot day”, tomato juice in beer, surely no one puts tomato juice in beer! The last one in the group is Jayell. I ask him about Trotter’s, “Well Yes, what a Wag, nah, not for me”

My phone rings, it’s Danny, “Hey Vic, I got you that ute”, ah yes Trotters Ale, very queer indeed. In the background I hear the faint sound of a guitar and a tune floats across the air just like rocks don’t, “Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay , Si, Si, Signora , My sister Belinda  She pissed out her window on top of my new sombrero”

9.1 Belinda got a gun, Belinda’s having fun

07 Monday Jun 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

The boys have landed on a deserted ICCB planet to get a little practice in before the main game against the Deathball

Pics by Warrigal

Belinda here. Helvi and I have taken the S.S. Julian II out into space while Sandy is having rehabilitation after hitting, well head butting, the winning runs in the one day final on Missen for the Male Nurses United. Our enemy, Lord John “The Rat” Howard had threatened to take military action against the Flongians so we decided to lure him away. We left behind 500 elite Helvi trained troops to protect Sandy just in case, at the advice of our garrison commander Al, Al Foyle. Al’s sort of spooky, he has these deep blue eyes, just like Sandy when he hasn’t been on the shiraz, and he doesn’t say much but seems to able to figure things out brilliantly.

The Julian has the fire power to match the Rats death ball. The big problem is the Death Ball’s defence shield which, like ours, protects the ship from space debris to laser cannon fire. Helvi and I call a meeting with Al, GO, Catherine and Warrigal. “Okay everyone” I start “anyone got any ideas on how we are going to get them to turn off the defence shield?” “How about we tell them I want to paint it?” says GO as he writes the words ‘cark it’ on a piece of paper and ponders off into the distance. “I know” says Warrigal “why don’t we just ask them to turn it off for a bit” Hmm, We are getting no where fast and without any farcical powers I can see I’m going to need a piece of complex fiction to solve this quandary. Al just sits and smiles however Catherine pipes in “I have an idea, lets ask Julian, he will know being a ship himself?” “Great idea “ says Helvi “And tell him we will fight and die heroes and martyrs” Do you get the idea Helvi has a death wish?

So as usual it takes a while for Catherine to get the answer back from Julian so we head for the pub. Dave the guitar droid is playing some Bill Withers and Michael the publican is doing a crossword. “Tonic water thanks Michael” as I settle in my chair. Of course all the guys get pints of Trotters, terrible stuff, makes you a bit trippy. I’m listening to the music when Catherine strolls in, in her cat mode and jumps up on the bar. “Well Julian has a solution” Catherine informs “See Howard is a cricket freak so Julian says to send the two cricket droids we picked up in the last junk sale, you know, Mark War and Shame Worn”. The bar goes deadly quiet, this is complex fiction at its best. “So I call Howard and tell him the droids want to come over for a chat and present him with the ball that took Mike Gatting’s wicket that went on to be called the ball of the century”. Yes I remember Sandy raving on forever and a day about that ball “But Catherine how will that get rid of Howard?” I ask. “Well” replies Catherine “in the Mark War droid will be a B.O.M.B.” An acronym, lucky Sandy’s not here “An acronym Catherine?” “No not an acronym young Bel, a real bomb, a WaughHead.”

Yeah yeah

06 Sunday Jun 2010

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

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

, ,

Tutu wondering how did she ever meet Hung

Seeing that we have gone musical lately I thought I would share this tune with you done by my alter ego, Mark. This recording went through a very complex path. First I use a computer program called Band-in-a-Box. You write you backing tracks in this program by adding the chord structure. You pick a style and the software creates the backing, drums, bass and keyboard. This is then recorded onto my Boss 4 track tape deck onto the first track. On the second track some guitar is added by taking a line out of the amp into the 4 track. Vocals are added direct via a microphone, in this case a Shure SM58, straight into the deck. I left the fourth track for a guitar solo but never got around to finishing the project. This was written 15 to 20 years ago and it’s about my life time dream, to win lotto. Enjoy the laugh.

Hung One On – Utopia

For those that play, this song has the same chords as Gloria by Van Morrison but backwards and slower, plus I did make a few little alterations.

9.0 Rehab a la Sandy

20 Thursday May 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Warrigalised Pig

I open my eyes. Hmmm, where am I? I don’t seem to able to move and I don’t recognise the room. Gees, I must of hung one on last night and have CRAFT Disease at the moment. C’mon, I don’t need to explain that one do I? Okay then, its you Can’t Remember A F*#@king Thing, c’mon guys you know I hate swearing.

Someone approaches, it’s Big M “Hi Sandy” he says “you hero, winning the game for us. Man, the party at the club was wicked, what a shame you missed it,  pity you almost died and ended up here in a regen-o-bubble in the local stute. Yeah, Sandy, you’ve got the best man, IV line, poovac and uripack, mate we’ll have you back to best before you can say, er, um, I mean, um Jack, oh well whoever” Big M informs. “Seems pretty self sufficient” I mumble as I look around at the bubble, “but don’t the nurses do all that?” I ask, “Nah” replies Big M “we just hang around the nurses station and look busy, it’s a bludge man”.

“Where’s Belinda?” I ask. “Well, it’s a long story but she’s out in space at the moment with Helvi” relates Big M “fighting the rat Lord Howard”. Oh, Belinda, what are you doing girl? “Get me outta here Big M?” I ask rather forlornly. “Sandy, you ain’t going nowhere at the moment, you still need another couple of months. Now go back to sleep and when you wake Belinda will be back and all will be well”

I’m having this weird dream. I’m walking down the street when a woman approaches and is thrusting out some eggs. “Deedee” she says “Deedee, deedee”. So I pull out my gun fire a shot into the air and say “Gees, in all the excitement I can’t remember how many shots I have fired. I mean this is a .44 magnum, the most powerful hand gun in the world, I could blow you head off with one shot punk”. The woman replies “well you have only fired one so in theory you should have five left” I thank her and take aim. I’m about to pull the trigger when I wake up. Darn, don’t you hate that, just as you get to the good bit.

Warrigal is sitting on a chair in the room reading a magazine. Knowing Warrigal it’s bound to be a scientific journal of some kind that will explain all the wonders of the universe. “Hey Warrigal, what cha reading?” I ask “The spring edition of Big and Bouncy Sandy” Warrigal replies refusing to move his eyes off the page, hmm, must be something about big objects.

Big M and a woman approach “Sandy, this is Dr. Voice, she is a NERD” Now I have been in space long enough to know what’s coming but my head is hurting so much I fall into line hopelessly “A nerd Big?” I reply. “Yes Dr Voice is a NERD, a Neurological Emergency Response Doctor and she will operate on you.” “Yes Father, I have had your brain scanned only to find that there’s not much there and the tiny little bit you do have needs help if it’s to be saved” informs Dr. Voice. Acronyms, everywhere acronyms. “Well Dr. Voice, do your worst” I reply trying to hide my nervousness “Yes Father, I am sure that I will” says Dr. Voice with a very strange expression on her face. “Oh Sandy” says Big M as the needle goes into my hand “Helvi left this message for you when her and Belinda when back into space, she said don’t worry they will fight and die heroes and martyrs” just as the anaesthetic is administered…..

8.5 Ewe Don’t Know What You’ve Bean Missen

30 Friday Apr 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Everywhere on Missen this emblem invokes fear

We finally arrive at Missen. Belinda and I with Helvi and Warrigal beam down to the surface onto the lawn at Hardy Cocksure’s house. I can hear a female sobbing uncontrollably in the house. We walk to the front door and knock. A woman answers “Yes” she sobs “Hi there, I’m Sandy, Gordon has sent me” I blurt nervously “Is Hardy home?” The woman cries and brings out a tissue to blow her nose “I’m Pussy” she relates, Hmmm, wow, I can see that but I better not go there “My Hardy’s gone LIMP” she bleats “Limp?” I ask “Yes, that’s right, LIMP, Lactose Induced Meltdown Procedure, oh, anyway, come in.” An acronym, I should have known.

Pussy is Hardy’s girlfriend and she relates to us a story of ICCB troops turning up at the door and drugging Hardy with lactose knowing he is lactose intolerant. Pussy tells us that a short little man in a space suit then comes to the door and says “Tell Lord Climate that the games over and to surrender”, Hmmm, I can smell the Rat behind this. Warrigal does a head to toe and then calls the Regen-o-lance while Helvi, who has morphed into combat mode, does a quick reconnoitre of the surrounds hoping she will find 500 elite ICCB troops waiting for her so she can decimate them and have a little fun.

I contact Neville, our navcom, “Neville patch me into the rodents ship please” I state rather assertively, “Yes Lord Climate, patching now” “Lord John speaking” answers the little worm. “You piece of excrement zark off or I’ll blow you out of the sky” I state in my non parish priest style of voice “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, temper, temper, you seem to be losing it a bit lately” whines the rodent, “Surrender, without Hardy you won’t win the game and Gordon won’t get to complete his thesis” hisses the scheming rat. “Pig’s Arms” I curse and with that I disconnect.

Just then a man steps into the doorway making the door and everything around him look incredibility small. “This is Big M” says Pussy “He will have to captain the team in place of Hardy and Sandy you will have to play” Me, and avid cricket hater actually play cricket, oh for zark sake, what else do I have to do in this story. “So” I ask full of nerves and knocking at the knees “Why do they call you Big M?” “Don’t know really” says Big M “might be because I’m big and my name starts with M but I’ve never really thought about it”

We go to the game the next day. It’s being held at the main ground on Flong called The Foval, I’ll let you guess how it got that name. Hardy’s team is called Male Nurses United and the opposition is the Oppressed Homosexuals. The OP’s win the toss and bat and thanks to a good opening stand of 114 from their openers Brucie and Waggers they go on to post 324 off 50 overs. Gregor, our spinner took 5 for 49 which is pretty good in a one day game.

We bat and thanks to a well crafted ton from Big M we get to 9 for 319 with last man in and one over to go, you guessed it, me. Helvi gives me a pep talk “Now Sandy you must win the game, you fight and die a hero and a martyr” “Helvi, can you leave out the die bit, I’m a born coward don’t forget” The nanobots in my pants are working overtime as I walk out. Luckily I’m at the non strikers end. The bowler for the OP’s is Les, Les Boss and he pushes off the fence to run it. I can’t even see the ball as my eyes are closed but Big M taps the first few back down the pitch. The tension is rising Les calls out “Hey priest, you’re such a pansy you’re on the wrong team” “Just go back and bowl you shirt lifter” replies Big M. “And you’re a another bone idle, good for nothing, purse carrying nancy boy, male nurse” retorts Les. The next delivery Big M smacks through the covers, must be a four, no well fielded keeping it down to a single. Two balls to go, four runs needed. “Hey, isn’t Sandy a girl’s name?” barbs Les, “Just zark off mate or I’ll tell your boyfriend where you were last night” retorts Big M. The heat is getting hot.

You know batting is difficult especially when you have your eyes closed as I did to the first delivery. Big M comes down the pitch “C’mon Sandy, if we win this there will be strippers, kegs, scoobies and steak sandwiches all night back at the club so c’mon, C’MON”. Just as I face up a voice pops in my head “Use the farce Luke, er um, Sandy, use the farce” says Dad. Only trouble is I can’t think of anything stupid. I remember Astyages saying attack is the best form of defence, so lets attack. I point to the stadium as Les starts to run in. American viewers will probably know this as the Statue of Liberty play in baseball. In Australia this is know as a very zarking stupid thing to do. One never riles a vicious fast bowler that has the potential to kill you with a single blow.

I can see Les approaching, his nostrils flaring, his eyes bulging out of his head. His tongue is wailing in the breeze and his hair forms a trail behind him. He bowls, I swing, I miss, ball hits my head, I’m rendered unconscious, the ball sails over the boundary on the full. It’s a six, the Male Nurses United win, Gordon passes his thesis, 326 is the average number of beans in a 440 gram can, life is a wonderful but strange thing, well sort of….