Tag Archives: Eddie O’Bad

Father O’Way Meets O’Bad – Part 2

02 Friday May 2014

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O'Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

O’Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

Story by Hung One On

Geeps with all the excitement going on someone asked where exactly is Missen?

Missen is a planet found in the galaxy that we call Andromeda. As part of my space adventure, I played in the one day cricket final on Flong at the Foval with Big M. This was important to Gordon as he needed to prove that there was a relationship between one day cricket scores and the average number of beans in a 440 gram can of Baked Beans in Tomato Sauce. Hey, you think space and the universe is complicated, well think again.

Big M has become part of my team on the Unnameable II space ship which is currently hiding on the dark side of the moon so not to upset NASA.

After getting the call from God, Big M went back to Missen to pick up Shoe so they could help me with my deep and revealing interview with Eddie O’Bad. However I have just learnt that Eddie has an old mate with him, Arthursin O’Dinos. Now I’m starting to worry, Gordon O’Donnell, Sandy O’Way, Barty O’Farty, Eddie O’Bad and Authursin O’Dinos, hmm. Any one else see a trend developing.?

I ring the Bish. “Hey Bish” I lead “A bit of a problem with names beginning with O”

“Don’t know what you mean Sandy anyway that call girl said she was 16” barks the Bish.

Hmm. Anyway we get to the gates of the O’Bad Ponderosa. A couple of guards approach the car.

“Hey, Sandy here, from the church of St Generic Brand, want to interview the Big O” I say but really not knowing what really to say.

“Well Father, you better turn around and keep going cause Eddie don’t wanna talk to you” says the guard, smiling and laughing to his offsider.

“Well heck guys, but I have the Duckhunt champion from Missen sitting right here that can take you apart within a few seconds” I reply not knowing really what I am saying. Hey, where’s the rum.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, Big M and Shoe were out of the car and after a few shots and screams had the guards under control.

“Big M, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Easy Sandy” he replies “This is a taping technique I learnt in NICU, tape their hands with the gun pointed to their abdomen, one false move, they pull the trigger, he he he he, etc” laughs Big M.

Gut wrenching laughter from Shoe “Me like” grins Shoe.

Geez, do you really know what you’ve been missing?

“Hey Sandy, how bout this” says Big M as the car accelerates and spins in a circle.

“Sandy, we is doing a donut” cries Big M

“Lets shoot some guards” says Shoe.

Bish, what have you done to me.

We travel into the O’Bad Ponderosa and arrive at the main door.

“Eddie, mate” I yell “Just wanna talk, okay”

Meanwhile Big M takes out seven guards and Shoe shoots out six windows on the second floor.

“Wadda ya want to talk about?” screams Eddie. Eddie’s eyes flash from side to side.

“Did ya do it?” I ask. May as well get to the point.

“Do what?” Eddie replies.

“It?” I reaffirm.

“Nah” says Edie

“What about you Artuursin?”

“I don’t remember”

“Did you go to McDonalds” I press.

“Yes” says Eddie, “I like a pickle with a meat patty”

This is unfortunately a true story, well sort of..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Father O’Way Meets O’Bad – Part 1

27 Sunday Apr 2014

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O'Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

O’Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula.

Hi, Sandy here. What? You don’t know me, well if you haven’t been listening for the last five years my name is Father Alexander O’Way, affectionately know as Sandy and I am the parish priest of the church of St Generic Brand which just happens to be down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms. Hmm.

Well as anyone who knows me knows I hate early mornings and yet again that relic from the last century Bishop Bishop, who we all know as the Bish, rang me at one in the afternoon.  What a bogan.

“Listen Sandy” bleats the Bish “I’ve just had a phone call from God”

Now to all you newcomers, God is Gordon O’Donnell, an astrophysicist from another dimension that created our universe as a science experiment in a shoe box. This shoe box sits at the back of the lab in Astrophysics 101 and is used for the students to study astrophysics. Hmm, I can see this is not going well. Yes, there is no God, Yahweh or Mohammad, it’s all mythological rubbish. It is us and them out “there”.

“Gordon wants us to wade into the O’Bad dilemma, lets find out if he really did it” demands the Bish.

“But Bish” I foolishly reply back “Who gives a zark if O’Bad is dodgy or what. Take him out someone else will replace him. I mean corrupt power is absolute but absolutely power corrupts something” Gees I wish I could remember that statement but it sounded good.

Okay. I can see some of you are stumbling with the word “zark”. As kiddies may be watching zark is a universal swear word. Just substitute “zar” for “fuc” and you will get the picture.

“Just do it Sandy or Gordon will cancel your credit card” barks the Bish.

Holy mackerel. No credit card. See when Gordon invented the universe he also invented money. So all of the money in our universe belongs to Gordon. Anywhere I travel in the universe is paid for by Gordon’s card, hmm, need to do something here.

“I have arranged a car to pick you up in the morning at 1000hrs so be ready. It’s a good two hour drive out to the O’Bad Ponderosa” What the zark, 10 in the morning, does this man hold no morals.

So ten the next morning a car pulls up out the front of the Rectory. Being so asleep, I didn’t really take any notice of the people in the front and I slumped into the back hoping I could get some shuteye. Somehow I couldn’t sleep, I kept thinking about the time when I first met Gordon, the delicious dinner made and served by the delicious Belinda who is now my wife. I remember thinking at the time,

“Acronyms, God how I hate acronyms. Usually stupid and generally meaningless along with mnemonics they stick in your head to remind you just how stupid you really are. Remember as kids in the parish school the all time classic, ARITHMETIC,   A Red Indian Thought He Might Eat Tobacco In Church. What twaddle. racist diatribe if ever there was one. I mean the only red Indians I knew were constantly having the shit shot out of them in country and western movies. Eat in church was a given no no and who in their right mind would want to eat tobacco for God sake. My dad used to smoke Cabin Cut, Ready Rolled, can I imagine dad hoeing into his tobacco after tea in the lounge, no way.”

Oh, yes those were the days. But then the POTTY Awards, oh yes, I remember well.

“ Anyway the one acronym that makes me tingle with pleasure is POTTY. The Potty Awards, the Priest Of The Tropical Year Awards and yes, I’m in the pipeline to win this year. See I’ve been invited to the Rectory to have dinner with the Bish and an important guest this Wednesday. Not next Wednesday or last Wednesday but the Wednesday before the Saturday night of the awards. Obviously the Bish wants to disclose that I’m this year’s winner so I have my acceptance speech ready to rock. Oh yes, all 32 pages, ready to roll thanks to the kind Voice who helped me pen an appropriate dialogue.”

Then heart break.

“Dinner finishes and the Bish goes off into another room to smoke that stinky stuff and Gordon ushers me into the study for a French Brandy that’s about 200 years old he just happened to find in his cellar and a cigar. How civilised. “Now Sandy, I’m sure you have some questions for me but first how do you feel about space travel?” Gordon asks. “Space travel? What about the Potty Awards?” I inquire lubricated by the fine wine. Gordon smiles “Don’t worry about them, that prick Basil Sauce will win this year. There are bigger plans afoot for you….”

Yes, Pastor Basil Sauce, that prick from one of the many mobs in town robbing my customers.

********************************************************

“ Driver, how long to go?” I enquire rather innocently wondering if anyone had a rum toddy to tide me over.

“ Not long now Father Sandy” said the driver.

Hang on, I know that voice. “ Big M” I cry, “ What in Gordon’s name are you doing here?”

“ I’m on a mission from God” replies Big M

“ Cut the God crap mate, we know the universe has been created from another time dimension” I reply with added futilityness.

“ From Gordon, you dope. Now meet Shoe.” Big M nods to the co-driver. “ She’s the Duckhunt champion from Missen and she’s riding shotgun”

“ Nice to meet you Sandy, heard a lot about you. And hey Big M was the slot car champion* of his street back on our planet”,  grins Shoe.

So I am going to face a big time crim with a driver that had a slot car set and a shotgun expert that knows Duckhunt, boy am I in trouble.

plot thickens …… (possibly due to the corn starch)

* Editors note – if I read between the lines correctly, there is some serious confluence between being a slot champion and obstetrics – just saying ‘  – that was when I started laughing and the rest got a bit off the track…….

The Bottom of the Barrel

16 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

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One down and one to go

One down and one to go

Story by Emmjay, Photo borrowed with undying thanks from the Canberra Times.

“But he was one of the better NSW premiers,” said Voice.

“That’s a load of cobblers” said Gez.  “His mates are up to their tits in it”.

“Not a chance of being up to my tits”, said Viv, adjusting her polo neck.

The usual suspects were having a quiet one or fifteen in the main bar of the Pig’s Arms and the ABC was re-running an interview (if you could call it that) of Robbie Robertson repeating over and over and over some horseshit about three cabinet ministers and one premier gone already and three more sitting members to face ICAC after Easter.  And “This has nothing to do with a bottle of wine.  It’s got everything to do with the untrustworthiness of the Liberal Party, blah, blah, blah. And I’m not going to draw any comparisons with anyone on this side of politics who has made a career out of corrupt behaviour and scored top billing at ICRAP”.

Arturo stirred his 1959 Grunge with a finger previously dipped in Granny’s wedges sauce – for that extra bit of piquancy.  He looked piqued, for sure. And he could have easily landed the lead role in Baz Luhr’s upcoming pulp movie ‘The Piquinese Falcon’.  Sinister, didn’t raise his eyes above the rim of the glass when Hung demanded to know where he got the Grunge.

“I don’t remember”, said Arturo.  “Wot, so the label embossed with ‘Compliments of the O’Bad Empire’ is no clue ?” inquired Hung.  Manne emerged from the cellar in the Greiner of time and added helpfully “I remember the Grunge, Mr Demons”.  That was the one that Merv had lying under his bed for a rainy day and he lost it in a poker game with Sir Lunchalot.  I dropped it off at your place on the way home, and you scribbled a note that I delivered to Mr O’Bad.  It said “Not half O’Bad, many thanks, the Rodent”.  “I thought it was very funny, Mr Demons.

“I don’t remember” said Arturo. The juke box was playing the Beatles’ “Baby said she’s drivin’ on the one after 59”.  “That reminds me”, said Manne, “Is (former) Justice Sin Minefield out of the slammer yet ?” “Nope said Gez, it’s getting pretty crowded in the P-wing library out at the Bay”. “Is it true that Ivan Milhat and Peter Snidearse asked to be moved out to avoid the corrosive influence – or more likely the smell of bent politicians ? I mean – even psychopathic killers have standards”.

“Most likely” said H (who was renowned for thinking the best of even the most obviously evil criminals).  “I’m given to believe that they adored their mothers and were kind to sparrows”, she added.

The acoustically-enhanced Pig’s Arms car park gravel gave up its customary crunchiness under the weight of a huge white NSW government Falcon piloted by Chikka Kerryovski and Colin Peters.  Obie, One Barrel Fatobie, rolled out of the back seat onto the deck trailing about a half a canteen of cutlery from the back of his commodious jacket.  The other half of the canteen was in the Kent street lunchroom – lacking almost all the knives.

The entourage entered the side door of the pub and took up the more comfortable seats in the ladies lounge.  “I had a serious memory failure” said Obie One.  “Thank Cripes for that”, said Arturo, who had been wondering whether the Cook’s River was going to give up more flotsam.  More in the shape of a Sinister Demon, he was thinking.

“GEEZUSS”, said Hung, holding a rather tired napkin over his nose.  “Someone must be cleaning out the grease trap in the Ladies Lounge”.  “There IS no grease trap in the Ladies Lounge, said Manne in his ever-helpful way”.

“For some reason I feel like a felafel” said Gez.  “You must be kibbehing me” said Hung  “I’m smelling the overwhelming stench of hypocrisy.  “How can you hommusly think of Foodge at a time like this ?”

“I feel awful”, said Voice.  “Our good ship NSW is without a rudder”.

“Perhaps” said Gez. “But there’s no shortage of ballast”.

Tabouleh continued ……

Sinister Demons

20 Thursday Mar 2014

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sino

Story by a Hairy Dog that lives at Emmjay’s Place

The too-familiar sound of a large black limo crushing the gravel in the Pig’s Arms carpark rang through the front bar and sent a chill up the spines of the assembled bludgers watching a re-run of Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway).

There was the otherwise reassuring thunk-thunk of german steel as two of the behemoth’s doors slammed shut and a short, stout balding man in a dark grey suit strode across the forecourt and through the main door of the pub.

“All right” he announced to the punters – who were reluctant to accept a disruption at that crucial point when Polanski, doing a cameo of some minor punk, inserts his shiv into Jake Gittoes’ left nostril and does a little freelance plastic surgery.

“ALL RIGHT” the grey man repeated,”Where the fuck is Eddie ?”

Merv and the punters had been startled, not by the try-harding grand standing short, fat grey man, but by the geyser of claret that had sprung from Jack Nicholson’s nose when the stiletto did its worst.  They were all taking a sympathy sip to calm their nerves and nobody had paid much attention to the short, fat, and (did I mention ?) grey man.

“I SAID …..”

“Yeah, we know what you said” said Hung, in his best DILLIGAF[1] impression.

“Do you know who I am ?” inquired the short, fat, balding grey man (SFBGM)

“Reuben F Scarf ?” guessed Hung.

“WHAT ?” said the SFBGM. “I said, Reuben F Scarf” said Hung. “The name on the inside pocket of your suit”.

A round of horse laughing circled the front bar, but the SFBGM wasn’t amongst the punters enjoying the leg pull.

“Look, mate, nobody gives a stuff who you are, but you’re still welcome in the Pig’s Arms” said Merv.

“This is Arturo Sinister Demons” said a swarthy chap redolent of dolmades and aged falafels, who had suddenly appeared and taken the SBFGM’s back.

“Will you guys save it for the commercial break?” said Hung. “Jack Nicholson’s just fished another one out of the reservoir”.

“Well, how about that !” said Voice.  “Mr Sinister Demons knows a thing or two about the water game too”

“And he knows what it’s like to have a taste of IPECAC” added Merv, who had finally joined the dots.

“Unusual for Federal Senators to front IPECAC” added Voice.  “And Assistant Treasurers”, said Hung.  “Even more unusual to have a family tree that grows in the shade of Johnny the Rodent and has roots right across to Eddie O’Bad on the other side !”

Sinister Demons was not well pleased.  He smashed his silver-handled cane on the bar and said “For the last time, where the fuck is Eddie ?”

“He’s moved in across the road next to Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain” said Merv.  But before Sinister Demons could turn on his heel and bust through the front door, Merv added “But you won’t find him there”.

Demons stood about an inch and a half away from Merv and said through gnashing teeth “Well, WHERE will I find him ?”

“One of the Cook’s River Sea Scouts found him floating in the drink, face up this morning.  That is, what was left of his face was up” Said Hung”.

“Make mine a pint” said Demons and shot a look around the bar like the cat that had just scored all the cream. “And a pink drink for Ian when he gets here”.

[1] DILLIGAF – do I look like I give a fuck

Eddie Moves In

07 Thursday Nov 2013

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Eddie's Better Side

Eddie’s Better Side

Story by Emmjay

Merv was looking worried.  Well, Merv was almost always looking worried.

“What’s the John Dory ?” inquired Hung.

“It’s our new neighbour” said Merv.

“What, you’re having a cow over some dude moving into the place the other side of Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain ?” said Hung.

“Not just any dude, Hung.  This one raises dodgy to a whole new level.  THIS ONE (Merv cleared his throat and most of the front bar) is none other than Eddie O’Bad” said Merv.

Stunned silence fell hard upon the front bar of the Pig’s Arms.

“That’s right, dear patrons – none other than Father O’Way’s archdiocese nemesis” said Merv.

“Holy Haloumi”, said Hung, “Falafel me dead.  O’Bad’s got a ladyfinger in every pide in town”.

Jules could have sworn he heard a faint trace of the theme to ‘the Magnificent Seven’ – or maybe it was the prelude to the ‘Gunfight at the OK Corral’.

A swirl of dust made its way across the car park, dragging a reluctant tumbleweed dislodged from Danny’s long-deceased car yard next door.  The street was deserted – not so much in the way of one of Granny’s after the main course trifles – more by way of the desert sands that were starting to encroach from Erskineville.  It was silent outside save for the mournful wail of the wind and the ghostly whiff of baking biscuits from the old Peak Frean’s factory – gone the way of the Wagon Wheels of Hung’s youth.

Nobody could remember when the honky-tonk piano had arrived in the Pig’s Arms front bar and nobody could recall the crusty old presdidigitator ever playing anything other than “Walk the Line” – over and over and effing over.  And so against a constant backdrop of innerwestern cyberian sallonery, they knocked back shots of pink liquor and chanced their hands at 3 card stud klondike blackjack poker or Yukon whist snap when they weren’t thinking about having a go at some Old Maid.

“It’s pretty draughty here, all of a sudden, Merv” said Hung, sidling up to a tall stool at the end of the bar with a commanding view of the car park. “So why are you sitting at the end of the bar with the commanding view of the car park, Hung ?” inquired Merv without any expectation of a reply that was likely to make sense.

“It’s the Wild Bill Hickock, move, Merv”, said Hung (who never disappointed with a reply).  “The one time he broke his own rule and sat with his back to the door, some mongrel wandered in and shot him in the back”.

“Do you know something that would be really good to share with me at this point, Hung?”

“Look, I’m not sayin’ anything like ‘drive by shootin’, Merv”, said Hung, “But if I was you and you was me and Eddie O’Bad moved into my territory like he’s movin’ into your patch – the patch that turns a fair amount of foamy amber liquid into liquidity, I’d be lookin’ up the phone number of our old mate Crispin Bacon and hopin’ he was in town and open for hire”.  And I’d be hopin’ that the Pig’s Arms archangel Father O’Way was on his…”

The sudden cessation of the piano playing left a sizeable hole in the soundtrack of the pub.  It was filled by the impressive arrival of a largish black limo with seriously opaque windows drawing to a gravel-crushing halt in the Pig’s Arms car park, followed by the ‘kerthunk’ closing of four doors.  And then the sound of the speed dial on Merv’s mobile…