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Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

Tag Archives: Big M

Foodge Escapes from Buntings

03 Thursday Jun 2021

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Algernon, Big M, Emmjay, Foodge, Mark, Nurse Barbara, O'Hoo, Sandshoe, Yvonne

You know, if they told me I was going to appear so much I would have charged more…

Foodge Escapes from Buntings

Written by Mark

Foodge was sitting in the foyer of the court house rolling a durry, well with tobacco and some other funny green stuff. O’Hoo was busy talking to some official over at the counter. Foodge was in deep thought mode, why am I here, why was I born, what is my first name and you know all those things that race through you mind in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.

“O’Hoo, hoo were you talking two” speaking phonetically so O’Hoo wouldn’t understand, asks Foodge as he deeply inhales on his durry.

“Clark, I think his name was, no Clark Cell, a standard primary cell producing 1.4328 volts at 15 degrees C which consists of a mercury cathode and a zinc amalgam anode both dipping into a saturated solution of zinc sulphate” says O’Hoo.

Oh fuck off thinks Foodge. Never ask a simpleton a question that you don’t know the answer too. “Anyway pass us the scotch”. Foodge is discombobulated now(thanks Gerard, my spell checker doesn’t know it still, after all this time).

Come here lad, have a whiskey…

“Where’s the press throng?” asks Foodge as he inhales deeply on his durry. Oh yes, South Sea Islands Scotch sure does taste good in the morning.

O’Hoo runs out of the foyer onto the front steps of the court house and spy’s a group of school kids passing by on an excursion or just running away from their teachers. O’Hoo approaches them and says “Look kids, I understand that this is a kid friendly web page but can you pretend to be from the media, you know asking questions, pointing microphones and taking pictures when my mate come out from the court?”

“Um, yeah, um, yeah, okay mate! Wot’s in it for us?” says a little smart arse in the front row.

“Sausage sizzle, with fried onions and tomato sauce, all round at Buntings, oh on white bread, nothing healthy” blurts O’Hoo relating to the inner psyche of the modern generation.

“Yep, wheeze in” says the smart arse.

Foodge stumbles out of the court to face the “media throng”.

“Mr Foodge, what have you got to say about the court case?” says the smart arse kid who is getting way too much media attention.

“Well” replies Foodge “ I can’t say anything while the case is in front of the court”

“Well that’s only literally, not metaphorically”. The smart arse kid is really stating to grate and you can fucking well spell that how you want to and I’m the author.

“No more comments from me except to say the chicken schnitzel on Monday night with mushroom gravy is to die for.”

Hmm, Tastes like chicken…

O’Hoo pulls up in the Zephyr. “You drive Foodge. We are being followed. I’ve read the script”

“But I’m pissed and stoned”

“Doesn’t matter we’re fictional and anyway Gordon will get us off any charges.”

Foodge accerlates the Zephyr down the boulevard. O’Hoo jumps into the back seat and smashes out the back window.

“Why did you do that for? Emmjay will be really pissed that we went over budget.”

“I’ll get a better shot this way. Keep speeding, we are being followed by the FBI, the CIA, ASIO and worst of all the CWA” cried O’Hoo as he lets fly a few salvo’s out of the recently renovated rear window.

Foodge dodges and swerves through the back streets of Inner Cyberia as O’Hoo fires indiscriminately out the back window, trying to take care to hit any one at any time.

The FBI and ASIO cars go down when the CIA call O’Hoo on a two way radio that he didn’t know he was carrying up until now.

“Wheeze hungry” says the CIA goon.

Stop, I’m from the CIA, no the CIB, no the CIC, no the CID…

“Take the next left and into the McJacks drive through” says O’Hoo thinking he should have added and extra T and said thought. So many questions so little time.

Everyone is going through the drive through, try saying that after a few drinks but the CWA ladies want a Fillet-O-Fish so wheeze is all held up. Wears the pleece when yous want them. Don’t you just love phonetics.

The race continues but O’Hoo is a bit too sharp for his opposition and quickly takes out the CIA car as they munch on their McJacks. The CWA are a different story. O’Hoo fires another round of high powered tracer bullets into their car from loaded magazines thanks to granny, an eternal pacifist. Don’t you love her. Peace man.

O’Hoo and Foodge drive into the car park at the Pigs Arms with the Zephyr looking in bad shape with bullet holes and smashed windows, however Foodge won’t budge until he has finished his Big McWhopper, fries and slushie. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” screams O’Hoo as he finishes his chicken burger and Coke drink.

Apparently it’s a restaurant

Foodge and O’Hoo run into the bar avoiding eye contact with Emmjay. Big M and Algernon cock there weapons and the three sisters, Yvonne, Barbara and Shoe just keep studying the form guide, totally disinterested in the shenanigans. The CWA drive straight through the front doors and get out of their car opening fire with their weapons. Big M, Algernon and O’Hoo return fire and bullets are flying everywhere.

Meanwhile back in the kitchen granny is really peeved. Emmjay walks through the fire fight into the kitchen and says to granny “Lets have a bake off so we can stop this madness.”

Granny walks into the bar and yells “Stop. Stop now.” Funnily enough everyone stops. “Lets have a scone bake off to sort this out.”

All the cooks head out to the kitchen and start cooking. Scones, cream and jam are served to everyone. Hmm, all taste great. Granny says “Well, what was this agro all about?”

“Dunno” says the lady from the CWA.

“Baby, what baby” cries Foodge.

Foodge versus Buntings

24 Saturday Apr 2021

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, Judge Jenny, O'Hoo

Foodge and whiskey go hand in hand…

Written by Mark

Foodge was feeling pensive, no apprehensive, no nervous and a little ill as he had just taken a long swig from a pocket flask with South Seas Blue Label scotch that O’Hoo just happened to have in his jacket pocket. This was his day in court after being kicked out of Buntings for wearing his pant bulger.

“I rang the clerk of the court last night to find out who the Judge is” says O’Hoo “ It’s genitalia”

“Genitalia is your private parts, you know your dingle dongle” replies Foodge.

“Here look, I writ in down”

“That’s Jenny Taylor not genitalia. You have a one track mind O’Hoo and Judge Jenny has her own television show, you know, on one of those channels that no one watches.”

“Here, drink this” as O’Hoo passes the flask as he steers the Zephyr down the main boulevard to the court house “and granny has put a couple of semi-automatic rifles plus extra ammo in the back seat just in case we need a fast get away. Isn’t she a sweetie.”

Hmm, thinks Foodge, neatly doing away with the need for apostrophes saving the author extra typing. What have I got myself into. Well if anything at least it makes a good story. Gee this South Seas Island Blue Label tastes great as the scotch kicks in.

“Park here” cries Foodge.

“It says no parking and we wouldn’t want to encourage kiddies to break the law now would we.” replies O’Hoo desperate to get more screen time.

Hmm, thinks Foodge, since when has O’Hoo developed a conscience. At least Judge Jenny will give us a fair trial and with the extra whiskey Foodge’s confidence is growing.

Judge Jenny addresses the court “Ladies and Gentleman we are gathered here today to join this loving couple in matrimony, oops, that was the last case, anyway we are gathered here today to hear the case of Foodge versus Buntings for personal and professional damages. Mr Foodge a poor downtrodden man who not only has lifted himself off the floor of the Pigs Arms to prop up the baa to being appointed to the baa of the legal profession. Versus Buntings, a mutlibillion dollar international conglomerate that steps on anyone to get their own way. The poor downtrodden Mr Foodge is naturally representing himself and for Buntings Mr Blah Blah.” The groans are palpable, this guy can talk under water with a mouth full of pebbles.

Mr Blah Blah kicks off “Well ma’am, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. I refer you to your book of documents ma’am 1 A, B and C. A being the story written by Big M with B and C being statements from the sales attendants. We plead not guilty.”

Foodge gets thrown out of Buntings https://pigsarms.com.au/2021/03/31/foodge-gets-thrown-out-of-buntings/

Foodge replies “No dispute from me ma’am however I do have a witness who was standing behind me in the queue. I call Private Road.”

Private Road takes the stand and swears and oath “I swear to tell the whole truth nothing but truth so help me Gordon O’Donnell, oh and maybe a few porkies, just kidding.”

Judge Jenny points the pointer, now now…

Judge Jenny intervenes “Are you in the Army?”

“No ma’am”

“So what is your first name?”

“Well it’s private ma’am”

Hmm, thinks Judge Jenny “Well yes when my husband and I go for a weekend drive in the country we can see you are very popular.”

“Ma’am, I would like to question my witness, with you leave.” interjects Foodge as he senses this episode is getting away from him. “Can you tell the court what you witnessed on that day being the 31st June 1904?”

“Well yes. Big M’s story and the attendant statements are all true however Mr Foodge here wasn’t doing anything wrong, he simply had his pant bulger in place. I was standing behind him with two of the same. You see ma’am I have Micropenile encephalopathy, colloquially called small dick brain however the medical fraternity refer to it as MP’s. I had two pant bulgers in my hand when security guards pounced on Mr Foodge and threw him out and he didn’t even get a sausage from the sausage sizzle.”

“Yes well, Mr Foodge, what are you seeking in damages?” asks Judge Jenny.

“Well ma’am ten million Inner Cyberia Dollars and free sausage sizzle on white bread with onions and tomato sauce for the rest of my days.” replies Foodge.

“Order granted, case upheld. All damages accepted. Court costs to be paid by Buntings seeing you sell pant bulgers. Just one last question Mr Foodge, what does a pant bulger do?”

“Well it makes you appear more attractive to the opposite sex, not that I would ever tell granny that, by giving the impression that you are well endowed ma’am.”

The packed gallery went wild.

Hooray yippee, the excitement is overwhelming

Shoe and HOO and Big Al: Yet Another Episode

12 Monday Apr 2021

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

'Shoe, Big M, Glenda's House of Pain, HOO

HOO says it was out?

Written by Sandshoe

“Y’ can’t be serious.”

“No.”

“What. ‘No’ it’s not possible or y’ don’t believe anything I ever say?”

“Yes.”

“How do you mean ‘Yes’?”

“100%”

“Where’s Big M?”

Hoo and Shoe are painting and papering the old House of Pain. There’s a jingle playing in a background sound track. Remember the jingle? Many hours of fun and laughter are spent at Glenda’s after? Everyone whistled it?

Big M puts his head in. He appears to be hiding the rest of what there is of a whole person behind the wall adjacent to the entrance door.

Shoe pronounces “Window Dresser’s Arms, Pig and Whistle” with relish.

“It’s a good trading name that is,” says HOO. HOO slaps his thighs, getting dust off his cover-all, well, his thighs. The Nail Salon’s gowns are none too commodious. Both of their bums (Shoe’s and HOO’s too) stick clear out the back from under the neat cloth ties that guarantee their frontal modesty. Shoe and HOO are saving their real clothes for a real job.

“The Boss wants us all to work harder.”

“Big, that’s ‘Job Description’.”

“Those gowns look better than the one I’ve got on. Not that I am ungrateful. It’s a saving.”

Shoe guesses the distance. She reaches over and throws Big M a gown pulled down earlier from the clothes stand beside Glenda’s wash troughs.

“Ta. I’ll call Big Al.”

“Who, Shoe? Who is he going to phone?”

“Who, HOO?”

We are down to the barest bones of our truth. We are to arrange a meeting of all the characters and plan a revival of business.

Thus Aristotle’s soul, of old that was,
May now be damned to animate an ass,
Or in this very house, for ought we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau;
And thus our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres to see our sport,
Now find us tossed into a tennis-court.

William Congreve: Love is Love (1695)

Anyone wanna a fight oops I mean tennis

Big M receives a visit from Hung One On.

16 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by Mark in Big M

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, Hung One On, Merv

I’m not in this episode

Written by Big M

Hung. “I thought you were writing another episode?”

Big. “Err, yep, suppose so.”

Hung. “ You know, you mentioned Foodge’s head in a box.”

Big. “Yeah, I did mention that.”

Hung. “Well, get going!”

Foodge was at his usual place behind the coffee machine busily bringing her up to a full head of steam in readiness for the anticipated influx of customers.

Hung. “Hang on. You’ve started nearly every episode in the last few months with Foodge at the coffee machine.”

Big. “Well, so what, it makes the writing easier.”

Hung. “You know that I’ve been in strife with the Fictional Union of Characters!”

Big. “Wasn’t that the Union of Fictional Characters?”

Hung. “Yes, but they renamed themselves to get a better acronym.”

Big. “Well, FUC certainly has a ring to it.”

Hung. “There are regulations around the use of two dimensional characters in stories. You’re running a risk of only using a two dimensional character in a one-dimensional plot thereby undermining said character’s dimensions. In effect they can simply disappear.”

Big. “I’ll try again.”

Spot the dummy…

Granny was woken in the middle of the night by Foodge’s groans and flailing limbs.

Hung. “That’s better already.”

“Come on, darling, you’re having a nightmare.” Granny soothed.

Foodge managed to pull the pillow from his face. “I dreamed that my head was stuck inside a box.”

“What, like a disembodied head kept alive by a mad scientist, as in the movie, The Brain That Wouldn’t Die, or like someone had smashed your head into a box?”

“Dunno, I could still feel my limbs.”

“That could be phantom sensations.” Granny pondered.

“Does it matter now?” Foodge turned over to try to get back to sleep.

“It sort of does. Could you hear anything?”

“Yes, there was a humming sound behind my head, you know, pumps and so forth.” Foodge pulled up the duvet, even though it wasn’t particularly cool.

“Any voices?”

“Yes, umm, those two fellows that pop in occasionally, um, Hung and Big M.”

“What did they say?’ Granny was becoming anxious.

“Something about two dimensional characters and one dimensional plot lines.” Foodge suddenly started snoring loudly.

Granny didn’t get back to sleep, but sat up wondering what all this meant.

Granny wondering how she got into this mess…

Foodge was back at his usual station behind the bar. Merv slipped a middy along the bar. “Get that into you, it’ll put lead in yer pencil.”

“Love a stout, especially first thing in the morning.” Foodge skulled the dark liquid.

“It’s Granny’s new Porter.”

“What’s a Porter?”

“It’s essentially a type of stout.”

“Right.” Foodge pushed the empty glass along the bar, which Merv quickly refilled (the glass, not the bar).

Foodge raised the glass to his lips but his eyes were transfixed by the most beautiful face he’d seen in his life. She really was a long cool woman in a black dress (as the song goes). She was tall, slender, slightly athletic, with black hair, emerald eyes and pale, almost alabaster skin. “Morning!” He blustered, with the glass still in front of his face.

Merv was just as enchanted, but somehow, maintained some composure. “Good morning, madam, can I be of assistance?”

“What a darling man.” She enthused. “I’m hoping that you can help me.”

“Yes, yes.” Foodge and Merv leaned forward.

“I’ve lost my husband.”

A flicker of hope flared in Merv’s heart. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“No, he’s not dead, he really is lost. I haven’t seen my Alexander for months. He said he was coming to the Pig’s Arms to help out for a week or so and hasn’t been back.”

Merv was slightly crestfallen. “Alexander you reckon? Never ‘eard of him.”

“You may know of him as Sandy?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Both Foodge and Merv shook their heads.

“He sometimes dresses as a priest and claims to be from the Generic Brand Church.”

“Oh, of course, Father O’Way, or FOW as we sometimes call him.” Foodge motioned to the coffee machine.

“Thank goodness, no, I won’t have a coffee, I wouldn’t mind something stronger…perhaps from the top shelf.”

Merv picked up on the hint and decanted from the South Sea Islands Blue Label.

Merv in shock…

“You know that he’s not really a priest, he just dresses that way to avoid the risk of becoming a one dimensional character. The problem is that we all run that risk in the Fictional Character Industry.”

Foodge nodded carefully, as it took his brain a little while to catch up. “You don’t think we’re all characters in some sort of fiction?”

“That’s like Descartes’ Brain in a vat idea, where some evil demon has placed a brain in a vat of nutrients and connected the nerves to various inputs to make the person think they are still alive.” Merv postulated while pouring Mrs O’Way a second drink.

“Yes, I was dreaming about this only last night, that I was a brain in a box.” Foodge motioned for a third Porter. Merv quickly obliged.

“We can’t be just fictional characters, because we’re here all of the time, talking, moving, eating and drinking. I can’t see how someone could make all of that up?” Merv wrinkled an already much troubled brow.

“Do you ever have people who seem to wander in for what seems to be minutes? They often have outlandish descriptions of themselves or their experiences.” Mrs O’Way sounded like she was on to something.

“Yes, we do.” Foodge looked slightly comical with a beery moustache. “Big M and Hung would be the primary candidates. Hung seems to appear and disappear at will while Big M always claims to have travelled by steam train.”

“That’s exactly the sort of character I’m talking about. Almost like ghosts trying to manipulate the living.” Mrs O’Way was interrupted by a tall man, who planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I hope you aren’t telling tales out of school, darling!” Grinned O’Way.

FOW with that cheeky grin

Foodge and the Old Bill

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by Mark in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Algernon, Benj, Big M, Foodge, Merv, Ms Lake, Sandshoe, Sister Yvonne

Foodge has many faces…

Never Far From The Truth:

Episode One Billion in Some Parts

Written by Shoe – Direction and Photography by Mark.

“Granny can’t be all that deaf,” Mark was remarking.

“I’m not going as Death,” Granny hollered. The cellar’s a long way. From is even longer by the time Granny climbs the stairs after a few quiet ones.

“Fancy dress,” Algy explained to Big M, “They’re holding an Allusion to celebrate we’re all in a better place.

“There’s a row of them in a big wooden box,” Foodge heard Granny screech as he walked in.

“I’m all done in, Uncle Merv.”

Merv set down a steaming cup of milo on the bar. Foodge expelled the breath of a man of all reason. Foodge was a season of reason. No-one dared ask. Foodge was likely to recount. He might recount his entire latest judgement. Foodge never came away from any trial without a good 40-minute obiter.

“Come to think of it,” Shoe said aloud. She thought she was only thinking it. “Foodge comes away from every trial like a man glued to postal mail.”

She wrote it down. Benj, new proprietor of the bookshop suggested, “Like a George the Fifth?”

Benj in better times…

So unnecessary. Overstatement of an adhesive. Strictly speaking, it had been used before.

“If we could make them a little less corny.”

Mark was remarking.

“Not again,” Yvonne groaned. Yvonne could barely breathe for fear if she stopped holding her breath in anticipation, Shoe would say nothing more, write nothing, least of all think.

“Breathe, Yvonne.”

Mark had it in hand. He placed the bar bill down on the, well, bar.

“I can’t read all these zeroes,” Shoe animated. “You can’t expect me to pay this as penalty. Three quadrillion billion five thousand and thirty two million…”

“That’s a heart starter,” sibilanted Big M. Big sibilanted in the face of all emergencies. He knew where to toss a vowel in for good effect when needed.

Ms Lake shouts the next round…

“Here’s a how-de-do,” Veronica Lake said. Ms Lake is new to that beer-soaked chook-squirt-stained establisment. Everyone remembers the Mexican chooks imported from, well, close to the truth.

“This is what comes of putting drinks on tick in an ever-expanding consciousness series sense,” Foodge interrupted, “I’ll take the case.”

Advanced Hair. Yeah! Yeah!

13 Sunday Dec 2020

Posted by Mark in Big M, Merv

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

Big M, Father O'Way, Foodge; Merv; Humour, Janet, O'Hoo

Written by Big M

Wot? Me worry…

Foodge was stood at his station behind the coffee machine. He was in a pensive mood (No he wasn’t, he was just plain embarrassed). Sorry, (Thanks Mark) he was just plain embarrassed after having to piss in the sluice behind the bar. Of course, Foodge’s idea if micturating in the sluice involved piss going everywhere, especially with an over-distended bladder. “Thanks, Father O’Way, for cleaning up yesterday.”

“No worries, I suppose you mentally lapsed back to those days of micturating through the ship’s railing.” FOW, as he liked to be called, was struggling with a leaking tap. It seemed like a cellarman’s job. “O’Hoo, are you there?”

“Yeah.” Came a muffled voice from the cellar.

“Leaking tap on Bitter, can you have a look?”

“Yep.” O’Hoo was trying to keep a low profile in view of the mad rooting in the store room incident.

“What ship?” Foodge had some vague idea about being on a ship but somehow his brain was stopping him from remembering. “Not the Wasted Seamen?”

“Where did you hear that name?” It was FOW’s turn to be pensive, or was it wary?

“It went down last week with three passengers missing, three Australian blokes.”

FOW realised that he had said too much. “Perhaps I heard it on the news. How about a pint?” FOW pushed a canoe in Foodge’s direction.

………………………………..

Merv needs to get dressed…

Merv realised that he had slept in. He tried to get up but his balls ached and his arm seemed to be trapped. He was spooning the most delightful creature he’d ever seen. Like a fitness model she had delts like boulders, traps like the hind leg of an ox and muscular striations that Mr Schwarzenegger would die for. He gently nuzzled her ear. “Mon Cheri.”

…………………………….

Janet puts on the death stare…

Foodge heard the back door slam. Looking around he was face to face with Merv’s ex, Janet. Where is he?” She spluttered.

“Who would that be?” Foodge answered.

“Who dya think!”

FOW stepped in. “Now there’s no need to get excited dear.” In his most ministerial voice.

“Shuddup Padre. Where is he?”

FOW and O’Hoo avoided looking at her. Foodge couldn’t help himself and nervously glanced up at the ceiling.

“Still in bed, the lazy great oaf.” Janet sprinted up the Memorial Kristina Kennealy staircase.

Foodge tried to ring Merv, suddenly realising that Merv didn’t own a mobile. It was too late; the sound of thumping on Merv’s bedroom door resonated through the building.

Janet burst through the door. “Get up you lazy…what, I’ve been gone five days and you’re already playing hide the salami…whoozat?”

Mervette awkwardly tried to cover all of her bits. “Merv, you told me you were well and truly divorced. Five days? Separated five days. That’s barely a holiday!”

“So, who’s this, Merv, yer twin sister?” Janet was shaking with anger.

“No, wait…why…we’re nothing alike.” Now Merv was discombobulated.

“She looks like you with a sex change.” Granny, Foodge, FOW and O’Hoo all nodded in agreement. Gordon only knows what they were all doing in there.

Mervette spoke up. “I think I can explain it. Merv, did you ever donate tissue for cloning experiments?”

“Well, Advanced Hair paid me a thousand bucks for some hair follicles to clone for baldy headed blokes, but that was over thirty years ago.”

“What do you think happened to that tissue?”

“I assumed they made hair out of it!”

“Well, they did, but they also made me.”

“Hang on, if they made a human, why didn’t they publish, or sell the technology to make human organs and medical treatments.” Big M interjected. He’d been sleeping in the bar since the last episode.

“Shut up, Big M.” Yelled Mark. How he got into the story, no one knows. “Let ‘em tell the story.

“You’re female, you can’t be a clone!” Merv’s head hurt.

“They developed a technique to convert the cells into female cells by substituting X for Y, because women are less likely to become bald. They left some cells dividing and they became me. I am your female clone!”

“So you’ve been having an affair with yourself. I’ve heard of dedicated Onanists, but you absolutely take the cake” Janet seemed to make sense. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go and fuck yourself?”

A couple of onanists…

GOD rescues the Pigs Arms

30 Monday Nov 2020

Posted by Mark in Big M, Merv

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Big M, Father O'Way, Foodge, Gordon O’Donnell, granny, humor, Mark, Merv, O'Hoo

Gordon comes to the rescue…

Written by Big M

It had been a busy morning, what with the Night Nurses enjoying their first post lock down get together. It all went swimmingly until Big M knocked over a bottle of Shiraz, which managed to contaminate everybody’s uniforms. He had no excuse for the sudden lack of balance; he was only five pints in. Mark managed to steer him towards the door. “It’s orright, I’m ketchin’ the 3801” Big M slurred.

“That’s right, buddy, just wait for that big steam engine to pull up, then you’ll be on yer way.” Mark soothed as he dumped Big M onto the bus stop seat.

Foodge had been at the coffee machine all morning. He was desperate for a piss, I mean, micturition, so turned to ask Merv or Mervette to man the coffees. He suddenly realised he was alone, with a group of thirsty concreters bearing down on the bar. “Manne, Granny, O’Hoo, anybody??”

“O’Hoo popped his head around the corner. “What’s all of the yelling about?”

“Mate, I’ve been abandoned with a phalanx of thirsty tradesmen bearing down on me.”

“Well, you know that I can’t pull a pint!” O’Hoo tried to stand his ground but the concreters had made it to the bar. “Oh, fuck.” O’Hoo started pulling Trotters Best, all half beer and half foam.

A fresh beer Merv and make it snappy as a crocodile sandwich!

“We aint payin’ for this shit.”

“All on the house.” Mumbled O’Hoo.

Thankfully Granny arrived on the scene. “What in the name of Gordon O’Donnell are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to help.” Muttered O’Hoo as he passed another half arsed pint across the bar.

Granny slipped behind the bar to expertly pour a couple of pints. “Okay youz blokes, happy hour is over so there’s no more free piss.” She quickly checked each tap. “O’Hoo, IPA and Stout need to be replaced, oh, and by the way, thanks for stepping in.”

O’Hoo raced to the cellar, where he was most at home. Foodge tugged on Granny’s sleave. “I’m desperate for a wee wee.”

“Hold onto yer water works for a minute. Where the bloody hell is that barmaid I’m payin’”

“Well, um, you can probably hear her.” Foodge was either going to have to hold onto his knob or micturated in the sluice.”

From the back of the pub. “Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

Granny located the source of the noise and tore open the storeroom door. She was horrified by the sight of a shaved, four legged, gorilla. She suddenly realised it was Merv and Mervette butt naked enjoying a conjugal visit. She was so angry she could barely speak. “Pull yer fuckin’ pants up and get outta my sight!”

Granny wandered back to the bar. “Are you still desperate for a Jimmy Riddle, Darling?” The sight of her lover had calmed her somewhat.

“Not now.” Foodge answered guiltily.

“Oh, Gordon O’Donnell help me.” Pleaded Granny.

“What can I do, dear?” Gordon appeared in the doorway of the Gents, busily trying to pull up his fly.

Wanking is fun…I’m a big wanker

Granny’s eyes misted over as she tried to put her arms around Gordon, but finding nothing but air. “Now, Granny, you know that us supernatural beings don’t like to be touched. I’m aware of the problem and I’ve summoned my best man for the job.

Father O’Way suddenly appeared. “Where shall I start Granny, oh, perhaps I should deal with the smell of piss behind the bar?”

Merv is back in the Saddle

17 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by Mark in Big M, Merv

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

Big M, granny, Merv, Mervette, O'Hoo

Written by Big M

The traffic outside the Pigs Arms is horrendous

Foodge had spent the morning trying to make four leaf clovers and love hearts in cappuccino froth. He’s progressively become more discombobulated as the morning progressed. Mervette was suddenly at his side vigorously wiping over beer taps and flushing stale beer through the overflow trays. “Mate, you’ve got a face like a dropped pie!”

“Yeah, yes.” Mumbled Foodge. “I feel like I’m missing time, I mean, there’s a huge gap in my diary…nothing for three weeks, then there was a news story this morning, about MI5 catching paedophiles. The thing is, I feel like I’ve met the agent in charge, and the street looked familiar, even though I’ve never been to England.”

“Ah, yes, it’s just Deja Vu, you know, the brain detects vaguely familiar patterns and makes sense of them by creating some sort of story.” Mervette pulled out a middy glass. “You wanna a swift half for morning tea?”

“Well, why not, it might settle down the over active brain.” Foodge thought he saw a fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye. Was it Gordon O’Donnell?

“You know those coffee patterns are easier to do in a real cup of coffee. That way your skewer drags some coffee up into the froth forming a darker line.”

Foodge ponders his bowel habits…

“Oh, yes, thanks.” Foodge drank his beer in silence. He was suddenly alerted to a news flash on the telly. “A container ship, the Wasted Seamen, has sunk in the Indian Ocean. Three middle aged, male passengers are feared drowned as they are unaccounted for.” Foodge crumpled his brow trying to remember where he’d seen Wasted Seamen before.

Suddenly a familiar face loomed large. “Gidday, Foodge, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. What’s wrong?” Merv enquired.

“Well it’s all to do with MI5, paedophiles and Wasted Seamen.”

“Why, what have you heard?” Merv looked worried.

“Just the news.”

“Oh, so no one’s said anything?” Merv looked pensive.

“Why would they?”

Their exchange was interrupted by Mervette. “Where have you been all my life?” As she pushed a glass canoe across the bar.

“Right here, sweet heart.” Merv skulled his pint, hoping for a second helping. “That’s something you don’t see every day in Inner Western Cyberia.”

“What’s that?”

“A beautiful lookin’ sheila.” Merv drank the second pint a little more slowly.

“Another silver tongued bastard.” Mervette gave Merv one of her come hither looks. “How about you sit yerself down and we’ll organise some breakfast?”

“I’m not that hungry, I suppose I could put away some scrambled eggs, bacon, chipolatas, tomato, mushrooms, Cumberland sausages, maybe a bit of leftover steak.” The words were barely out of Merv’s mouth when Granny appeared with her famous Pigs Arms Big Breakfast with customary wedges.

Both women fussed over him while Foodge stood behind the coffee machine. He reached over and pulled another beer. “I suppose he deserves all that fuss, but no one’s recognised my existential crisis.” He muttered to himself. “I could have been abducted by aliens for all I know.”

Pigs Arms patrons

Granny rushed off to attend some wort that she had left on the boil. Mervette placed her hands either side of Merv’s neck. “You’re full of tension, Merv, you really need a massage.” As she worked on a particularly knotty trapezoid. “This might be better performed lying down.”

It was Merv’s turn to feel a stirring in the nether regions.

Just let me near an employee, I’ll root ya…allegedly

Adventures in Cardiz

23 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by Mark in Big M, Merv

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

Big M, Cadiz, Foodge, humour, Merv

Granny loves her Trotters – written by Big M

Our three intrepid travellers found themselves abandoned on a container terminal in Cadiz, which wasn’t so bad because Foodge spoke fluent Spanish.

It was soon revealed that Foodge didn’t speak Spanish at all, but some weird dialect of Italian that most Italians don’t understand (Big M here: don’t ask, I don’t know anything about this). Foodge reverted to shouting at the locals in English, which didn’t work, either. They did seem to get quite agitated when he yelled. “We’re from Wasted Seamen!” While pointing out to sea.

Father O’Way was seen to quietly pray, and then addressed the small gathering of locals in fluent Spanish. There was plenty of nodding and pointing towards town. “Si, si, Padre…” One chap chatted away into his mobile then a small car seemed to appear out of nowhere. The three were motioned into the car, which quickly sped off towards the outskirts of town.

“Christ, Father, I thought speakin’ in tongues only happened in the bible days.” Wes enthused.

“No, my son, it still happens today, especially if one is schooled in Hebrew, Latin and Greek at the Seminary. It makes modern languages pretty easy to pick up.” O’Way laughed.

The three soon found themselves in front of a sepia coloured hotel in a sepia coloured streetscape. Foodge thought it rather romantic. Like being in a black and white detective film. The others recognised it for what it was, a run down dirty pub in a run down dirty part of town. “It is still rather quaint.” Enthused Foodge. “Las Armas Cerdos!” O’Way ushered them through the doors, still cranky that the friendly taxi ride had cost him a hundred American dollars.

“Ah, welcome my American Amigos.” Gushed a tall chap with a crooked nose and cauliflower ears. “I am Mervyn, the proprietor!” A trio of ‘Cerdo Amarga’ (Porcine Bitter) crossed the dirty, stained timber bar.

Foodge quickly took up the challenge and skulled a litre of beer. Wes and O’Way were more genteel so took the time to introduce the group and explain that they weren’t American but Australian. Their conversation was interrupted by a dulcet voice, which seemed to emanate from the cellar.

“Mervyn, Mervyn, are the Americans here yet?”

“No, La Abuelita, they’re Australians.”

Long John Parade

“Australians, ooohhh, so sexy, I’ll be right up.”

Foodge was mesmerised as the most beautiful face framed by long grey hair appeared behind the bar. He gasped and couldn’t help kissing the back of her proffered hand. “La Abuelita, I’m Foodge.”

“La Abuelita, no, we use English here, you can call me Granny.”

“Granny, of course, you remind me of someone.” Foodge still stood there holding her hand.

“Oh, I hope not, but surely such a handsome man would have a lover back home?” Granny took her hand back to fill another glass for Foodge.

“Oh, um, err, ah, well no.” Foodge’s ears had turned red. He downed the second drink like it was his first.

Neither Wes nor O’Way commented. After all, what happened in Cadiz, stayed in Cadiz. “You don’t seem to know, my Carino?” Purred Spanish Granny.

“It’s just that I was, um, err, ah, seeing, um…no.” He gulped.

O’Way interjected. “We were hoping for accommodation and dinner?”

“But, of course, Padre, you shall dine with us. Just wait and I’ll prepare some tapas to tide you over until dinner is served.” La Abuelita couldn’t take her eyes off Foodge, nor could he, her. “You shall all stay in the family apartment.”

The tapas and the meal that followed were exquisite. Fresh local seafood, local red wine, and, of course, Granny’s Bitter by the litre. The exhausted trio were exhausted so Granny quickly showed Wes and Father to a small bedroom with two narrow beds and an en suite. “Where am I sleeping?” Foodge felt like he’d been forgotten.

“You shall sleep in here!” Granny led him by the hand into an enormous bedroom with a king sized bed and an en suite the size of a dining room. “You bathe and then sleep.”

Foodge went ahead and showered and popped on his best PJs. He was somewhat surprised to find La Abuelita in the bed with a ‘come hither’ look in her eyes. ‘Oh, well.’ He thought, I am an International Man of Mystery. What followed can only be imagined. Certainly unsuitable for the high minded intellectual that frequents the Pigs Arms.

Foodge woke with a start. He was still entwined with La Abuelita. “Foodge, Foodge.” She purred. “It’s wonderful to have a real man in my bed again.”

“La Abuelita, it’s wonderful to be in bed with such a wonderful lover.” Foodge playfully nibbled on her ear.

“La Abuelita! Who the fuck is Lar Ab you Liter?” Inner Western Cyberian Granny retorted.

“I must be in a parallel universe!”

Granny’s angry wrinkled face dissolved to be replace by O’Way’s. “Yes, indeed, now get back to nibbling on my ear!”

“Where’s Wes?”

Wes’ face popped up over his shoulder. “You didn’t think you’d leave me out,. I love them tattoos on yer bum.”

“Gordon O’Donnell, save me” Foodge pleaded.

Foodge suddenly found himself in Granny’s bed back at the Pigs Arms. Gordon O’Donnell was stood at the foot of the bed. “It’s all OK, Foodge, just a dream.” Gordon winked as he slowly disappeared.

Granny was knocking on the door. “Foodge, Foodge, it’s passed ten, you’ve almost slept in!”

Granny likes her Seamen

19 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, humour, Merv

” …if not for the courage of the fearless crew the Nimmow would be lost…”

Written by Big M.

Granny was getting concerned, perhaps discombobulated. No one had heard from Foodge, Wes and O’Way since Foodge had sent that stupid Carrow Wack inspired Stream of Urine. Micturating over the handrail indeed. Merv was lazily wiping horizontal surfaces with a dirty rag to ensure COVID compliance. “Merv, are you busy?”

“Flat out like a lizard drinkin’?” Merv laughed quietly to himself. “Why?”

“Have you heard from the Boys?”

“What Boys?” Merv had lost interest in his work so stood there wondering what to do with the rag.

“Foodge, Wes and Father.”

“They’re hardly Boys (with or without capitalisation).”

“The Hardy Boys?” Granny is a touch deaf.

The Hardy Boys (sorry Ace, couldn’t resist)

“Oo?”

“Anyhoo, ‘ave you ‘eard from Foodge ‘n’ Co?”

“Not since the ‘Stream of Unconsciousness’ thingy. Why?” Merv hadn’t bothered to read Foodge’s Kerouac Inspired whatsaname because it sounded like shit.

“I’m worried about them.” Granny had poured herself a Lady’s Waist of Trotter’s Best.

“I’m not.” Merv tossed the rag behind the bar.

“Why not?” Granny skulled the dirt brown concoction then poured a second.

“I’m tracking ‘em, or, more to the point, tracking Foodge.”

“How, I mean, why?” Granny had moved on to a pint of IPA.

“I placed a tracker in his toiletries bag.” Merv had already anticipated the next question so fired up his laptop and placed his reading glasses on the end of his nose. “Let’s see, now, it only switches on twice a day, to conserve power, ah….okay, it gave a position a couple of hours ago. They’re in Cadiz, which is odd. They should be somewhere way further south. Either the ship’s got mechanical trouble or they’ve been thrown orff.” Merv suspected the latter but went checked on the whereabouts of MV Wasted Seamen, which, it turns out had already rounded the Cape. “It looks like the wasted Seaman has left them behind!”

Foodge’s toiletry bag

“Wasted Seamen??” Granny was slightly intoxicated. “What would sailors be doing wasting…”

“Did you want to send a message?” Merv had adopted the attitude of a parent with a small child, which was Granny to a Tee when she was on the sauce. “Seeing as we know where they are, or, at least where Foodge’s toiletries are.”

“Oh, yes…I dunno, I just want him back.” Granny dissolved in tears.

“You want him back? I can organise that.”

“Can you really get him back?”

“I can probably get them home by the end of the week.” Merv was already typing an email to an old mate in Spain.

“So you could have got them back earlier, I’m guessing!” Granny had taken an accusatory tone.

“Of course.” Merv didn’t look up from the laptop.

“Why diddencha??”

“No one asked, besides, I thought they were enjoying the thrill of the journey. Hold on, I’ve got a reply. An old copper mate lives in Spain. He’ll track ‘em down easy enough and pop them on a freight plane. They’ll be in Inner Western Cyberia by Thursdee arvo.” Merv slammed the laptop shut. “Another pint, dear?”

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