This is where I grew up. The photo was taken in 1904. So if you take 1904 from 2021 you get twenty five. Makes me 26 this year. That’s right isn’t it Algy?
As you can see, transport hasn’t changed and the big building on the corner is the Ryan’s Hotel which meant getting to the pub was much harder than getting home. My brother-in-law and I can attest to this on many occasions.
The Illawarra Escarpment hasn’t changed a dickie bird whereas me and my brother-in-law have.
The town is called Thirroul which means “easy to pub, hard to get home” in the local lingo and in the late 1880’s everyone spoke French so the locals knew that then.
The roads are still shit and now traffic lights are needed to control the flow of horse drawn buggies. Gee how things have changed.
I think I better go to the pub. That’s where Father O’Way is and that’s how I, Bishop Bishop, come into the story. If you don’t know the story about me then look through the archives under the Church of St. Generic Brand or something like that. I’m really famous, or so I think.
So anyway I digress, which is the only thing that I’m good at. I’m called the Bish for some reason that escapes me but I’ll drop into the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle. Boy Big M, does that increase the word count or wot.
I ask some questions “Where is Father O’Way? Why am I doing this? Is Valium really that bad? Can I have a pint of best with a whiskey chaser? So many questions so little time.”
Merv pours a beer and some whiskey for me but he doesn’t speak so he doesn’t have to include inverted commas and the he says she said bit in the next part of this dialogue. Thank Gordon for spelling correctors. It also cuts down on paragraphs.
Sister’s Yvonne and Barbara levitated onto their stools. “Pink drinks all round ” said Sister Yvonne who hadn’t learn the lesson from the above paragraph where it’s better not to say much so there’s a lot less typing. Get the picture.
“Is your stool satisfactory Sister Barbara?”
“Yes, more than satisfactory I would say Sister Yvonne” helping get the word count up.
Meanwhile Algernon and Big M sat on their usual stools with their shotguns loaded just in case a cat happened to come through the door. One can only hope.
Did the GPS say 500 metres left or right to Parramatta Road…
I says to Merv “You look rah,rah,rah, um stuffed” ignoring my own advice on inverted commas.
Didn’t you read Meet Mervette thinks Merv, oh good boy, he knows the rules.
Where’s Sandy I think.
Well he can go home now seeing I’m back behind the bar thinks Merv.
Gee, isn’t it good when you think things through. Gordon will be pleased.
Merv thinks I need another beer and whiskey chaser. This is getting better by the minute.
I feel sorry for the parrot fishes! Yes this fish can be eaten, but for us divers this is a big No No!!! There are important reasons why we should not eat them and we should educate the fishermen to stop catching these beautiful fish! Please do spare them … the ocean needs them to regenerate. Read below to be educated. They’re lots of fish you can catch in the sea. They can sell and cook the other fish, but leave the parrot fish!
Here is why: (c&p from the web)
Parrotfish eat algae and dead coral*. They spend up to 90% of their day nibbling. In other words, they clean the reef. This is important because most of the reefs across the tropics are being smothered by algae because there are not enough parrotfish and other herbivores out there grazing.
After all that eating, get this: They poop fine white sand – lots of it! Each parrotfish produces up to 320 kilograms (700 pounds) of sand each year.
Their numbers are so depleted, and algae levels are so high, that they cannot be fished sustainably right now anywhere in the Caribbean. These flamboyant, algae-eating, sand-pooping fish need to be left in the water. And when they are left to chomp away, they do a brilliant job. A massive new report concludes that reefs where parrotfish were abundant in the 1980s are the reefs that are healthy now.
There is a reason for their existence so please let’s not eat them … To our Govt. Please educate our fishermen… Say no to catching parrot fish! Let’s not buy parrot fish so they won’t catch them anymore.
Kangaroos hop down my street every day or so. They eat your lawn, veggie patch and anything else that takes their fancy. They are environmentally friendly and let vegetation regenerate.
The king kangaroo would stand at over two metres high and would kill you if you got too close. People around here hate them and will shoot them at any opportunity. Dickheads around here love to run them down in their four wheel drives, makes me sick at times. Roadkill, what for? Fucking nothing.
I can’t eat them as once I got really sick but the details are gory so I won’t go into it except to say that it wasn’t the kangaroo steak that made me sick.
When it’s drought I leave water out for them but I don’t tell my neighbours as the shotguns would come from me. They eat so little compared to sheep and cattle. It’s the sheep and cattle that are ruining the river flats.
In the last week I’ve seen, snakes, turtles, roos, echidnas, wallabies and goannas. After 35 years in Adelaide I’m now the lucky one. I can look outside my side door and watch Rosellas, King Parrots, Major Mitchells, White Cockies, Wheat Birds, Kookaburras and have Sea Eagles, Owls, Hawks and other birds that stay high up in the gum trees. The only bird I don’t like is the Koel bird that has an awful cry and is a cuckoo. The Koel bird comes down from Indonesia each summer and is a pain in the arse. Lays it’s eggs in the nest of honey eaters. The hatched chick eats the other eggs in the nest then keeps the parents feeding it till it flies home.
If I go down to the headland and can see whales going up and down the coast depending on the time of year, dolphins surfing and the local creek has flathead, bream, ducks and pelicans.
Geez, I’m lucky and I never realised it.
Written and authorised by Mark at a town near you.
Hello, Merv here or hear, whatever you like. Never been one for correctness. Anyhoo this geeza walks into the bar the other day. This is what happened.
“Gidday mate” replied in my normal friendly but neutral composure.
“Yeah mate, I’m here for the job” says this geeza.
“So what job was that?”
“An exciting new character at the Pigs Arms Hotel. Here, I was sent by the agency, the Fictional Characters Union, all the paper work is here.”
“So, what’s your name then?” being always on the lookout for a scam.
“Um, dunno. They didn’t tell me”
“So you don’t know your name, your from the agency, hmm, so what can you do that’s exciting and new ?”
Never get between Merv and a pie…
“Well, I can play chess, sort of and the ukulele, sort of , oh yes and I once had a piano lesson.”
Things were starting to go downhill.
I decided to ramp up the atmosphere.
“No skydiving, no rodeos, so how exciting does it get. So if you have no name then the Pigs Arms will have to name you” Merv is now ruining a good story.
[Merv we didn’t want that till later. I frigging hate you sometimes]
“How about Neville or Baxter?” says the man with no name.
“Fuck off, something spicy for the viewers like Gonzales or Geoffrey.” Funny thing was that I hate both of those names.
“So, Merv, what is your last name?” says Gonzales or Geoffrey or Neville or Baxter.
I wished I looked this good…
“I don’t have one” says hypocrite Merv. “Wot’s yours?”
“Smith actually”
“So no first name Smith, lets call you Abba Zoodoo” Merv ponderously states.
“Okay from now on my name is Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville Baxter ” says Abba. “Fuckin’ happy now.” Gez I hate authors.
“ So Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville Baxter getting the word count up with you new name is invaluable, but in your view given this is comedy should have I said knew instead of new? And if I had a last name I would call myself …”
Hi, Merv here, I fink like, you know, I wanna go to school, just so I can say smart arse things at the bar when I’m working. Like you know if some gezza comes in and orders two pints of Special, I can turn around and say “I think therefore I am”. Whadda ya reckon, sounds good to me. But education is shit so I talk to my good friend Foodge(FOO), who is my legal adviser and any direct questions from this article should go directly to him via the Fictional Characters Union, 000, at your nearest capital city.
FOO: So what’s in an education for you. Let me ask you this. If you have nothing to start with and nothing at the end what do you have?
Merv: Nothing
FOO:1 take away 1
Merv: Nothing
FOO: Two hungry navvies arrive at the bar and order a pint and a pie. What’s left?
Merv: Nothing.
“Thank Gordon we have turned that interview technique off, so Merv you don’t need school” says Foodge reverting from FOO.
“Well I did have to go to the doctor” says Merv, “hey why can’t we go back to that old interview technique, boy, is this eating up the word limit and it’s good fun”.
FOO: What did the doctor say?
Merv: He said I was sick and that I should go home.
FOO: So what’s wrong with you?
Merv: I don’t know. He said it would be a breach of privacy.
FOO: But it’s you and your health.
Merv: Yes, he said I’d need birth certificates and affidavits from my parents just to prove that they were there at my birth so he could go ahead and release the information. Shit happens as they say.
FOO: I’m ringing your lawyer right now, we’ll get you out of this.
As usual, it’s Merv that attends to the bar jobs, oh yes, so that the pub is open for business, helps pay off his 457 visa card or something like that. Never been great with pames or naplces, don’t know why, it’s not that I’m a drongo or anything.
As bar manager, Merv needs to attend to a level of acceptable bar etiquette, like no guns, pitchforks, effigies or blow up replicas, for example, voodoo dolls, just sayin’ like.
Did you hear that…
Today however, something unusual is happening at the Pigs Arm’s, no one is calling for the government to step down and they’re all too busy drinking Trotter’s Lager to worry about it. And let’s face it, why shouldn’t they be.
Meanwhile, in the office, out the back, so no one can really tell what’s happening, Merv calls to Foodge, you know our own private dick and barrister, “Come and have a look at this Foodge, a typewriter and a television screen rigged up together. Can’t see it getting far but who nose.”
“No, you just said who nose, when you meant who knows. Are you a moron Merv, even O’Hoo nose the difference between who knows and you nose or even, fuck nose.”
Merv isn’t put off by the bar banter, he starts to stay up late at night learning how to use this typewriter and make orders for the pub and eventually he looks up a website that sells robotic barman. Can you see where this is heading, I can and I’m the author.
See Merv has only ever had one day off since the beginning of the Pigs Arms. What better than an AI(Artificial Intelligence) robot to do your job. Yes a holiday.
Yeah, just hangin’ round.Trotter’s on the house…
“Hey Merv, this robot you have ordered so you can have a holiday, can do everything better quicker faster, why do we need you when you come back” says someone. Okay, if you what to know who that someone is ask Big M, not that he said it.
Something in Merv thinks, oops. Okay let’s send it back.
Algernon wanders in , shotgun cocked, brain, well, engaged, “WTF is that whatever your name is that I’m talking to”
“It’s Merv Sir. He’s got a reply email from the Postmaster that says Do Not Reply” says the script reader.
After wanting to return the robot barman, Merv sent this email to the robot company that had told him that he couldn’t reply. Merv was fuming. Here is a redacted form of Merv’s reply, just in case there are kiddies watching,
Wot
Dear Automated Email,
Thank you for your request. I just wish to tell you how much I miss you.
Fond memories pervade over this valley of time given your lengthy absence.
Hoping the rumours about your ill health aren’t true otherwise it has been nice knowing you.
Love
Merv
************
“Merv, you can say that about whatever” says Nurse Barbara. “Maybe you want to talk to that bloke over there. He’s been asking about emails and Moooovveee which I reckon might mean Merv. And he has been talking about cans of magic elixir.” Wink, wink, oh my Gordon, how far do I have to go thinks Nurse Barbara. Jesus Fucking Christ I give up,sorry kiddies.
Just as a mosquito was about to fly by, a man entered the bar at the Pigs Arms. He ordered a beer and said “Has anyone here ever heard of a bloke called Merv?”
“Nah mate, who the eff are you?” says someone to whom I haven’t aligned this comment to.
“My name is Nap O’Leon and here is a can of my magic elixir” says the bloke that says
get some of this down ya
this. Nap O’Leon places a can on a bar. “This is French champagne” he continues “I’m from French and I’m here to investigate an email that was sent to our No Reply Email service. The depression rate in our Postmaster Offices has increased. We must stop this or else.”
“Hey fellas, how about a dip in the ocean before our next chug along?” says Sister Yvonne.
“Nah, that would put me fag out” replies Nurse Barbara.
“What about the French champagne. Hasn’t it just been proven that nothing plus nothing equals something” says Foodge, our community sitarist.
“Oh no, not this hoary old chestnut however it is ridiculously delicious just like I like my boiled eggs sunny side up.” replies Nap O’Leon.
“I’ve bet you have never been to a fuel and produce store, hmm, didn’t think so, follow me dribbler” says a really surprising retort from one of the list of characters that could possibly answer so this time I’ll go to Sister Yvonne.
“Have you any fuel or produce?” Yvonne asks the young assistant behind the counter.
Merv was feeling quite unrestrained. He’d read an article in the newspaper that said “nothing is good for your health…”, wow, how powerful is that sort of shit. What he didn’t read was the next paragraph which just happened to say “except for a Trotter’s Ale”, don’t just some facts interfere with a good way of living, I think so and I’m not even Merv, just the low grade author.
Merv is standing behind the bar, index fingers and thumbs clasped and eyes closed, thinking of nothing he nothingly thinks when in walks Father Sandy O’Way, you know, our parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand.
“Hi Merv, pint of the best , granny’s special and a cone of the good stuff, nah, only kidding, on the wagon this week. Nah, Triple bourb’ instead.”
“Sorry Sandy but I’ve read that nothing is good for your health and from now on I’m going to do nothing as much as possible to keep in good health.”
“Yessss Merv but what you are now doing now is something because you are talking to me.” Sandy’s starting to have some second thoughts about this whole conversation.
“ Yesss but Sandy, I’m really worried, if I have nothing in this hand and nothing in the other hand surely this gives me nothing.”
“Um,er, yessss. You know, we need Foodge.” Foodge is the local private detective and barrister that drinks down at the Pigs Arms. He also smokes to much, eats too many wedgies and is a terrible punter so he tends to need the wealth to flow to the needy lawyers so this episode can run for a little bit longer. Let’s go to court, yee ha.
Foodge has a spiv
Well the court session has been called and unfortunately we have landed the hanging judge, Sir Suppository.
“All rise…” dribble. The judge has been asked to rule on a definition of nothing versus something.
“I sentence the defendant to death by hanging” states Sir Suppository.
“But Me Lud, no evidence has been stated” says Foodge for the defence. Anyhoo,
“Oh, shit, what about the prosecution?” barks the aperient of knobility, Sir Suppository, pretending he knows what’s going on. And look I say good luck to him because I’m writing this and I don’t know what’s going on.
“This is an arbitration matter Me Lud, two bits of nothing equals nothing. We argue that if you have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other hand then at the end of the day you have nothing” says John Citizen of your local Credit Card Legal Firm.
“I interject your suppository, if I have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other I therefore have two bits of nothing therefore I have something”[Geeps, just what I need now is a Donna Summer song] asserts Foodge.
Go Foodge otherwise Merv will be hanged and someone else will have to pour the beers, poor us.
“Me Lud, I will present a case that will irreparably oops I mean irrefutably resolve the whole issue.” Oh Gordon[the inventor of the universe], I love spinning out a story. Have I mentioned hanging Merv yet, hmm, just asking, for a friend like, you know.
“What’s this Me Lud shit?” says Me Lud.
“It’s a minced form of My Lord and it’s found in the No Idea Major Crossword Me Lud, August 2017, Edition 4, Pages 121-122, 389 and 392 Across, two words, minced form of legal brownnose, just sayin’ Me Lud.”
My darling, I have a case to hear
“Oh FFS, lets get on with it and that’s coming from Me Lud.” Don’t know whether I should say Me Lud or not at this point, I mean all that extra typing. Lets face it, typing prevents so many good stories from being told as I would be flat out typing about them.
Foodge rises to the stand “ I call Pythagoras Me Lud” as the court gasps.
Foodge pushes on. This is mind numbing stuff, one of those events when people will sit around at parties in the future saying, where were you when Foodge called Pythagoras to the witness stand so that Merv didn’t get hanged for saying that two times nothing is something. Wow man, this is unbelievable and I make this shit up.
“Now Pythagoras can you recall to the court your early life and the effect that it had on you?” pleads Foodge.
“Well, yeah, like, it was shit, like yeah, you know, shit yeah like you know, then this geeza hits me right, with a stick right, and it breaks right, I arrange it in different patterns then this gezza , Socrates was his name, smart geeza always wanting
Yes a2 +b2 = c2
someone to think for themselves, I mean, ever heard of anything more stupid then that, you know, so I arranged it like you know, drink hemlock, gets ya pissed, you know, like and den all of a sudden I writ this book, Equilateral Triangles for Dummies, den you know, the rest is history.”
“The witness may stand down. Mr Foodge I suggest your witness should indeed consult an encyclopaedia before telecasting Socrates. Anyone else?” says Me Lud.
“Yes Me Lud, I call George Boole.”
“Anyone else alive Mr Foodge?”
“No Me Lud. Liveliness tends to get in the road of a good story.” Foodge pushes on, again.
“So Mr Boole, is it possible for nothing to have a value?”
“Well, um, er, um, ah, um I sorta don’t know, yes, no, maybe.”
“But Sir, you are an architect of the modern age of communication, I put it to you Sir, has nothing got a value?” asserts Foodge.
“True”
“And what is that value?”
“False”
“Me Lud, I rest my case. If my client has nothing in one hand and nothing in the other then therefore he has something.”
The roar from the gallery was amazing…
The court erupts with joy. Complete strangers hug and kiss, TV presenters pretend they like each other, cameramen take photos of men and women rejoicing in confetti lined streets so that in 50 years time we can all try and guess who they were, oh yes isn’t living in Inner Cyberia just wonderful, isn’t it?
Hi, Sandy here, you know Father O’Way, your local parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand which is down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms Hotel.
So when you drop in here from now on you will only see me in the background, you know, casual, gig economy. Exploited I think the other word for it is, just sayin’ like. I’m sure you can see the analogy.
Anyhoo, something has happened, I got a call from the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop the one we all affectionately call the Bish. As usual he rang early in the morning, about eleven o’clock, bastard, I hate early mornings and he knows it.
My wake up call…
Ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, well I could let this go on for a while so I can get my word count up but I’ll put you out of your misery and answer the phone.
“Retired priest Sandy speaking” knowing full well that it will be the Bish.
“Sandy, we have a problem” says the Bish. No Bish you have the problem but wish to push it onto me.
“You need to have Brekkie in Britain with Princess Theresa about the EU’s” barks the Bish.
“Well, I’m retired, hate breakfast and am scared of emu’s and where is Britain?” I ask knowing I won’t want to know the answer.
“Britain is somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole. EU, not emus and Bex-it not breaky or something like that. Now I’m in Cairns so I can’t go and Gordon has said we must get this sorted otherwise there may be no cricket this summer.”
Oh FFS, cricket, the most boring game in the universe.
“So working in cans must be very restrictive for you Bish, I mean how do you go to the toilet?”
“Cairns is a town you ninny, somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole”
A coupla cans…
vibrates the Bish. “Now get over there and sort this mess out. If Gordon can’t watch cricket this summer it will be on your shoulders!!”
Gordon is the creator of the universe by the way and he taught every simian based planet to play cricket, speak English and develop money. Hmm, starting to think that Gordon may be a loser.
So to get to Britain, I’m not going to fly any more, stuff that. I will go by boat. Much more relaxed and in a style to which I have become accustomed. Yeah, so I go by a cruise ship.
On deck I decide to go for a walk on the poop deck. Now one needs to be very careful from this point about what is said otherwise something is going to hit the fan, get the picture. I mean, I’m up to my heels in poop, thank Gordon they are high heels.
I meet some of the crew,
“Hi, I’m Chris the captain, I look after everyone’s cap”
“Hi, I’m Pete the purser, I look after everyone’s purse”
“Hi, I’m Paul the Petty Officer, I look after all the small things”
“Hi, I’m Colin the coxswain, I look after everyone’s c…”
“Yes, I’m sure you do” I timely interrupt. Let’s face it, on a PG site there may be kiddies watching.
SS Minnow
The cruise was wonderful and many a rip roaring good time happened, I think. I mean we may not have had a good time but I don’t remember unless I have to remember for some sort of remembering reason. Just sayin’ like.
We arrived in Britain and headed for number ten, the home of the prime minister. It was lovely inside, nice curtains, open fire and tea and scones, Blackwood sideboard, I mean this was class, real class. No plastic forks anywhere to be seen in this place.
“We’re here to advise Princess Theresa about emus and eggs for breakfast” says Sandy.
“Sorry but she’s out” comes the reply.
“But she promised…”
“Sorry, she’s washing her hair, having a high colonic, writing stories for the Pigs Arms…”
So Billy went and became a trainee priest at the Church of St Generic Brand and we lost touch. Sad actually, Billy was my best mate for years and now I could no longer go home I was all alone. Isn’t sadness a funny thing because if you have never had happiness you won’t know what sadness is. Crikey, that’s a worry, that even made sense anyhoo I’m going to skip sadness and stick with happiness from now on, er, um, whatever that means.
[Mark here Sandy, get on with it, you’re using up the word count]
Darn the truth hurts sometimes. Verbosity was never my strong point, can’t think why, maybe my low literacy skills might have something to do with it but I doubt it. As my English teacher once said, oops, hang on, I never listened to him so lets just drop that one. And if I ever see the truth in one of these stories I will tell you and that’s a lie. You can trust me on that one for sure.
Anyhoo, I got a job making wing nuts in a factory down the road with board and lodgings at Madame La SpaghettiBolognaise’s Commorancy. Its next door to Glenda’s House of Pain and around the corner from the hotel, the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle better know as The Pigs Arms.
The job was really hard, it took peak physical fitness, extreme intelligence and a high level of dexterity and of course I had none of those qualities therefore I was a perfect fit for the job. So you put a nut and a wing together in a machine, push a button and hey presto you have a wing nut. Thirty in one go and watch dem fingers and toes, it’s considered appropriate to fully check each digit before going home, hmm. I think gender may determine that count but lets not go there although I’m finding it difficult to resist.
Madame La SpaghettiBolognaise was a wonderful mother to all us challenged boys and you were able to tell which day of the week it was by the flavour of the sauce, curry, chilli, garlic and mushroom all with pasta de jour but Sunday night was always chicken roast, yumbo. A hearty breakfast and sandwiches and fruit for smoko and it was all ten times better than Sow End High but then again that wouldn’t take much.
Madame La SpaghettiBolognaise took all our wages and gave us some spending money for the weekend, generosity to the max, for sure. Anyhoo, I spent most of my spare time down the park kicking the soccer ball and dreaming about building another robot just like when I was a kid. Then I saw this man approach me in a weird suit, like the one you would get from a weird suit shop but it was a priest, collar and all.
“Gidday Sandy” said the bloke, well I guess he has done his home work. Didn’t you hate that as a kid, come home from school and continue working. Dear oh dear, what sort of world did we grow up in. Anyway I digress which is the only thing I’m good at.
I looked hard at him, so hard in fact that my eyes were hurting. My eyes were telling my brain to go way and procreate but in some other words that may be considered rude. Go on brain think of something to do however my neural pathways returned this message “Unfortunately your operating system is going to shut down. Press any key you like, it won’t make any difference…” Notice the dots at de end, why day do dat?
I awoke on the ground with my head between a priest’s legs. I was groaning, I could feel this throbbing sensation in my head umm, umm, but is was Billy, Billy Bishop, my best mate. Billy was helping me up off the ground and you thought! well I never. He still had that wicked grin sort of like a Cheshire Cat but not full breed, maybe half-breed that had luckily been run over by a lorry.
“Billy how the sexual intercourse are you?” I cried with joy. Billy looked really well, happy and by the look of him well fed. We hugged and shook hands. This was unbelievable and this is fiction and even I’m believing it’s real, wow.
“I’m great, the church is a fantastic place. Look tomorrow is Sunday, come over, watch the
Sister Horribleness and Father Veri Bent
service and have lunch. It will be a great day out and you and I can talk all the bulldung we like. Starts at 10” says Billy. Notice how the boys are keeping the language down, someone under 45 may be watching this. Believe me this 45 thing is real. One never knows, anyhoo I, um, yep, you get the picture.
“Well Billy, you know that me and sexually intercoursing Church’s was never my strong point” I speak, with tongues, not really but sounds wicked don’t it. And to be honest I never made Churches a point to start with.
Billy pulls out the old grin trick. Apparently your mouth can form into a semi-crescent of some kind and the other apes think you are showing you like them. Even I don’t believe this.
“Well okay then” I say “but please don’t shove this down my throat and yes it would be great to get together and tell porkies about how great we once were.” I commit.
Laughs all round. We shook hands and Billy headed off to the church which by the way is just down the road and round the corner, just like everything else in Inner Cyberia.
We think therefore we are sand.
Authors Notes:
Comments between square brackets [ ] are usually conversations between the character and the author, or some other character like Mike the Editor. Don’t be alarmed be alert.
[1] Billy has assured me that Big and Bouncy is a basketball magazine, for sure, I mean this is fiction and even I don’t buy that, well not until next time.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 